


The Traitor's Shadow

by hannahyesss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little blood but nothing queasy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Begins during Chamber of Secrets, Eventual and brief Sirius/OC, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Reconciliation, Sirius copes with the knowledge of his future, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahyesss/pseuds/hannahyesss
Summary: A sixteen-year-old Sirius Black mysteriously falls forward into a time where he is reviled as a mass murderer, his best friend is dead because of him, and everything he knows is gone. (Begins in CoS)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 34





	1. Gone

A dust cloud bloomed as he fell to his knees. He choked and coughed into his shirt. His body swayed with weakness, as if he’d run miles and miles across an open plain. The attic was dark—darker than it ought have been. They’d lit the lamp in the corner but the only light now came from the small, circular window.

He wiped his eyes.

Swathes of linen protected the treasures of the attic—fabric that had not been in place a minute ago. The floor was covered in a thick coat of grey debris, and from the walls hung yellowed cobwebs. Sirius scrambled backwards in alarm until his back hit a mirror that was leaning against the floor. With a cry, he covered his head as the mirror fell over him, shattering in shining slivers over the floor. Shards scraped his neck and arms.

Carefully, he lifted the mirror’s gilded frame from his back.

“James?” he said.

Wind outside sang an eerie tune. Tree branches clawed at the house, trying to make their way in through the walls and windows. Rain pattered. Mrs. Potter would have been downstairs listening to the wireless and fussing with drapery, but Celestina Warbeck’s warble had gone silent.

Glass of the mirror cracked under his shoe. He tried the handle of the staircase door, but it was locked. Fear gripped him. Who would lock him in here? James wasn’t so base to try such a pathetic trick. Jump out and scare him, yes, but lock him in the attic? James knew better.

He pulled out his wand and stared at it. He was underage and the Trace still dogged every bit of magic that passed through the tip of his wand, but he had a cold feeling he wouldn’t escape the attic without spelling it open. Steeling himself, he whispered, _“Alohomora!”_ and the lock sprang open.

“Prongs?” he called out into the stairwell.

The stairs descended into blackness.

_“Lumos,”_ he said, and a bright light illuminated his way. Pressing his hand against the wall, he lowered himself down stair by stair, dreading what he would find when he reached the bottom. His hand trembled on his wand. On his next step, his foot went right through the rotten wood of the stair and with a holler, he caught himself on the railing. The railing was loose and it burst free from the wall. The edge of each stair hit his shoulders on the way down until he tumbled into the door at the bottom, but even the crumbling door didn’t stop him. As soon as he hit it, the door popped off its hinges and he rolled into the corridor.

He beheld the dark space, which only minutes earlier was alight with summer sun. The walls were now draped with cobwebs and eaten by vermin. But…he and James had just come up here, sent to find chairs for the surprise party Mrs. Potter planned for Mr. Potter’s birthday. Perhaps there was some sort of curse on the house, he wondered, that made intruders or Muggles believe it was only an abandoned manor. There was something like that on Hogwarts castle, he knew. Somehow he must have triggered it.

“Prongs?” he tried again. “Mrs. Potter? Euphemia?”

The bannister had long ago fallen all the way to the ground floor when he approached another staircase. On the floor below, the rooms were empty, all of them bare or covered with the same white cloth. Even the portraits were missing from their frames, he realized. The grand piano in the drawing room was missing a leg and some time ago it had fallen over. But Mrs. Potter had only just bought that piano a week earlier, and she made him and James listen to her play for half an hour.

Further down he went until he reached the grand entry where the dual staircases ended at a checkered, black and white floor. The rug he knew was gone. His footpaths left a streak through the dirt and dust. The floor was cracked with bits of tree roots and grass which he nearly tripped over in his haste to reach the door.

It didn’t open.

With a blast of his wand, the doorway shattered and he staggered from the decrepit foundation into the dripping evening. In horror, he lost his footing as he faltered back, seeing how the manor had been reclaimed by the woods surrounding it. He fell hard on his backside. Trees had twisted themselves through the windows and roof, engulfing the walls and smothering the shutters with vines. The garden Mr. and Mrs. Potter so carefully maintained was nothing but a ruin of dried bushes and scraggly weeds; the hedges had rebelled and grown monstrous.

He heard pops of Apparition behind him. Sirius scrambled to his feet and whirled, pointing his wand. The two figures stood only yards away; he could see that they wore Auror robes and had drawn their own wands. One was a man of average build, but he was unremarkable compared to the man beside him. Sirius had never met him, but the grizzled Auror have been no one else but the infamous Alastor Moody.

_“Expelliarmus!_ ”

The wand wrenched from Sirius’s grip to fly straight into the hand of the first Auror. Sirius held up his hands stiffly.

“Identify yourself, boy!”

“Black, Sirius Black, sir,” he said. The name itself would be suspicious, he knew. Revealing that he belonged to one of the most staunchly pureblooded houses in Britain hardly did him any favors. As long as the Potters could vouch for him, however, he was safe. But where had they gone?

“Sirius Black? What sort of game are you playing?” the first Auror spat.

Rain dripped in the magical eye of Auror Moody whose expression had not changed.

“That’s—er—that’s my name,” said Sirius.

The first Auror scowled and rolled his eyes at Auror Moody. “If he’s going to pretend he’s a criminal, we ought to—”

“Shut up, Dawlish,” Moody barked. “Right, then, Black. What were you doing in there? You set off the Trace with an unlocking charm.”

Sirius figured that must have drawn their attention. The rain stung the slices on his neck and arms, flowing with fresh blood down his shirt and fingertips. After the mirror shards and his fall down the stairs, he must have looked like a mess, and the rain only made it worse. He rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Where are the Potters? James and I—we were only in the attic for a minute. Mrs. Potter wanted us to find more chairs. I—I don’t know what happened. Everything was normal and now…I don’t know.”

A strange plume of emotion erupted in his chest as he looked back at the house, so obviously abandoned many years ago. Only a month earlier had he escaped his mother’s clutches and found refuge with James and his family. They had welcomed him, embraced him, given him a room and showered him with love and praise. When his O.W.L. results arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Potter patted his back like he was their very own son.

Suddenly, it was all gone, as if they had never lived there at all.

“What happened?” he demanded the Aurors. “Where are they?” He started forward, clenching his fists as the Aurors raised their wands. “Tell me what happened to them!”

But before he could charge, there was a flash of light and he slumped to the dead, dried grass.

* * *

“—of course we’ve inspected Azkaban, and Black is still in his cell. The dementors have communicated that nothing is amiss.”

His arms were stuck to the chair—chained, he realized. His legs too. He pulled experimentally, but the chains only squeezed tighter. Blinking in the dim light, he focused on the burning lamps on the walls. There were three that he could see.

The voice outside the door was unfamiliar, but it was talking about him. He drew in a deep breath, pleading with himself not to panic. It was a misunderstanding. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were going to hear about this and come to claim him. They would say the house mistook him for an intruder. They would take him home and Mrs. Potter would throw Mr. Potter his birthday party, and he and James would secretly down glasses of firewhisky. This would be a hilarious story to share with Moony and Wormtail on the train back to Hogwarts. He just needed someone to listen to him.

He took in another breath that filled his lungs. “Hello?” he said. “I’m awake now. You can come ask me questions.”

The door opened suddenly.

First came Auror Moody, his wooden leg thumping against the floor as he moved into the small room—an interrogation room, Sirius surmised. Moody conjured a table in the middle of the room which appeared in front of Sirius, then he drew up a stool. It was not for him, Sirius realized. At the doorway was another man. It was a portly fellow who clutched a lime green bowler hat as he eased inside. Nervously, the man lowered himself to the stool, jumpy as though Sirius would leap out of his chair and attack.

“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Potter?” said Sirius.

“Er—Mr. _Black,_ is it?”

“Yeah.”

The portly man glanced at Auror Moody, but Moody’s eyes—false and real—didn’t move from Sirius.

“May I introduce myself? Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. I understand you claim to be—er—Sirius Black.”

Sirius shook his head. “Because that’s who I am. But you can’t be Minister,” he blurted. “That’s Harold Minchum. Only just elected.” He knew because Mr. and Mrs. Potter were troubled by Minchum’s stance on Dementors. A recent proposal to add more to Azkaban’s guard was a controversial one that the Potters intended to fight.

“Minister Minchum left office over a decade ago,” said Fudge.

“No, he was elected a few months ago.”

Fudge turned to Auror Moody. “Well, how am I supposed to determine what to do with him if he doesn’t realize who I am? The boy is clearly of Hogwarts age. Dumbledore ought to know who he is.”

“I’ve told you, I’m Sirius Black—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned. If you won’t talk to me, perhaps Moody can get something out of you. I’m calling for Dumbledore.”

Sirius didn’t argue with that, though a bit of dread seeped into his heart. The last time he spoke directly with Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, Sirius had faced expulsion. A stupid joke had spun wildly out of control, nearly leading to another student’s death—if not death, then at least, serious dismemberment and a terrible, lifelong affliction. Dumbledore’s disappointment was crushing.

Moody took Fudge’s seat, his scarred and grizzled face haunted by the shadows of the room. Never in his life did Sirius expect to be sitting across from the most well-known dark wizard hunter in the country while chained to a chair. His fingers twitched on the cold, metal armrests.

“So you say you’re Sirius Black. Want to see what Sirius Black looks like now?” said Moody. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a photograph.

Sirius shivered. The man in the picture might have been a corpse: his long, matted hair hung below his shoulders, his cheeks were hollowed from starvation, and his eyes were cold and haunting. If his hands weren’t bound, he might have thrust the photograph back at Moody.

“That’s—that’s not me,” said Sirius. He tore his eyes from the photo. “Is this a joke?”

“So you’re saying you’re Sirius Black, then. That’s your story.”

“Yes, damn it, that’s who I am. I don’t know what’s happening. If you would just call for Mr. Potter, he’ll come down here and explain everything. Is this the Ministry of Magic? He might already be here. I know he had to stop by for a permit today—”

“The Potters are dead, Black,” said Moody.

The words dropped like a stone. “No, no they aren’t.”

“Fleamont and Euphemia Potter succumbed to Dragon Pox in 1979.”

“But they aren’t—they’re not—I just saw Mrs. Potter! She was perfectly healthy. She was changing the drapes. James will tell you.”

“He’s dead too.”

Sirius wrenched in the chains. “He’s not. Where am I? What’s happened to everyone? Is this a trick, to force me to confess to be a Death Eater? When Mr. Potter finds out about this, he’ll call for a full investigation.”

“That will not be necessary at this time,” a soft voice came from the door.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts, stepped through. Minister Fudge was behind him, breathless. Even Moody turned with a quizzical eyebrow at Dumbledore.

“News travels fast, eh?” grumbled Moody.

“I simply happened to be passing through the Ministry when the Minister caught me. Astounding coincidence.”

“Astounding, my arse. You’ve got wards around the old Potter place. You knew we’d bring the perpetrator here.”

Fudge looked uncomfortable. “Well, now that he’s here, he can identify this student, can’t he? Doesn’t matter how he knew to be here, just as long as he can offer his assistance. Now, Albus, tell us who this boy is.”

Dumbledore’s startlingly blue eyes met Sirius’s, and for a split-second, surprise alighted them. The air stilled as a bit of darkness crept into the lines of the old headmaster’s face, as if he recognized Sirius yet had reservations about it. A soft exhale left the headmaster.

“Why, this is Sirius Black,” said Dumbledore.

But the relief Sirius had expected didn’t come. Fudge eyes bulged as he looked from Sirius to Dumbledore.

“But—but he can’t be,” Fudge sputtered. “Albus, you know as well as I, this cannot be Sirius Black. We’ve just been to Azkaban to check, and Black is still in his cell.”

“Ah, but this is not the same Sirius Black we know. Sirius, how old are you?”

Mouth dry, Sirius answered. “Sixteen. But—but you know that, professor. I just finished my fifth year. We—we just spoke in your office before the year was over. You have to remember that, don’t you?”

“I do recall that day,” said Dumbledore. “Yet it was nearly sixteen years ago for me, Mr. Black.”

“But Professor—I was— It was only a few months ago—”

“Albus,” Fudge interrupted impatiently, “You’re not suggesting he’s traveled through time?”

“Sirius, can you tell us what year it is?”

The question rang between his ears.

The cobwebs drooping from the ceilings, dust everywhere, trees crawling all over the house—the images swarmed his mind. No, no, it couldn’t be all gone. He can’t have left it all behind. He squeezed his eyes shut but all he could see was the manor, crumbling to the earth, piece by piece.

Dead, Moody said. They were all dead. Mr. and Mrs. Potter. _James._ Gone. They were all gone. James was his brother. He couldn’t be dead. He was so young. They were in the attic, searching for chairs. How could they be alive one minute and dead the next?

He couldn’t breathe. He gripped the arms of the chair, but the air wouldn’t reach his lungs. Glass shattered and the lights went out and he couldn’t inhale. James was right there with him. Where was he? He couldn’t be gone. It wasn’t real.

The chains around his wrists and ankles tightened until he could no longer feel his fingers or toes, and still there came no air to his lungs, and he was choking. He tried to suck in a breath.

There were hands on his face, forcing him to look up into blue eyes. Sirius shut his own and made to pull away.

“Look at me, Sirius.”

Dumbledore was firm. Sirius obeyed. Images of the empty house flashed behind his eyes, but he knew Dumbledore was searching for the moments before Sirius had found himself alone in the abandoned house. There was Mrs. Potter asking them to look for more party chairs; Sirius was climbing up the stairs to the attic after James. James was complaining about not being able to use magic outside of school for another six months while Sirius bragged he only had until November. Then they were searching the attic, shoving aside old trunks and relics, and James was wishing for a new broomstick and then Sirius had moved a rug and then everything was gone.

The breath returned.

Sirius knew that Dumbledore was a Legilimens. He closed his eyes before Dumbledore could see more, shaking his head free from his grasp before he saw the house in his mind again.

“Please, don’t,” said Sirius. He felt pathetic, chained to the chair, helpless and pleading.

“Well?” demanded Fudge. “Is it him?”

“I am afraid so,” said Dumbledore. “It seems that he has stumbled into a bit of magic powerful enough to project him forward through time. Of course, the laws of time would hardly permit such a thing to happen without great effect, and since our Sirius Black is still in his cell in Azkaban, I assume that his appearance in our time has created a rift and separated his world from ours. If my assumption is correct, this should not affect our timeline in any way.”

“But—this is Sirius Black,” said Fudge. “A known criminal and mass murderer. Now we’ve got _two?_ Albus, we can’t let him simply walk free.”

Sirius wished he could cover his ears. He didn’t want to hear anything more.

“Much as we’d like,” said Moody, “the only thing the boy’s done wrong is use magic to unlock a door. We can’t imprison someone who hasn’t broken the law.”

“Broken the law? He killed thirteen people! He’s You-Know-Who’s most faithful servant! You can’t tell me you’d see him go free after all that?”

“Alastor is right, Minister,” said Dumbledore. “While we can lament the actions of our Sirius Black eleven years ago, we cannot project our feelings onto this Sirius Black who has not yet turned seventeen. As far as we are concerned, Sirius is completely innocent.”

“We know You-Know-Who recruited followers as young as sixteen, Albus!” said Fudge, pointing at Sirius. “How do we know he hasn’t joined up? Considering his family, it’s not out of the question. His own brother was suspected to be a Death Eater at his age.”

If the chains tightened further, Sirius feared his hands would pop off. He clenched his eyes shut. _Please stop talking, please stop,_ a voice was begging. This was too much. No one was supposed to know so much about the future.

“The Minister’s got a point,” said Moody. “But we don’t have proof. Hell, even the Death Eaters who confessed didn’t know Black was one of them until he was thrown in Azkaban. More likely than not, I’d wager Black didn’t join up until after Hogwarts.”

Fudge threw his hands up. “Well, we’ll have to find a way to send him back. We can’t have a notorious criminal running around, frightening people. Maybe the Unspeakables will know what to do with him.”

“Perhaps it is best if we give Mr. Black time to settle in to this new world before we decide his fate,” said Dumbledore. “As he is not yet of age, we will need to find a suitable guardian.”

“Please don’t send me back to my parents,” Sirius begged. He couldn’t bear it—losing the Potters and finding himself cloistered in a house full of family who loathed him.

“That will be impossible, for unfortunately, your parents have both passed.”

“Suitable guardian? You mean someone who won’t curse him as soon as they see him?” said Moody with a scoff. “That’ll be interesting.”

“I will bring him back to Hogwarts until one is found,” Dumbledore said.

“Albus, you can’t be serious!” blustered Fudge. “Imagine what sort of havoc he could wreak there! How many students we would endanger?”

“Considering that it is July, and it is only myself and handful of teachers who reside at Hogwarts over the summer, I should say none. Once a path has been chosen for Mr. Black, we can revisit the question of guardianship. How does that sound, Cornelius?”

“I-I-I don’t like it, Albus. Truly dreadful to suggest Black has any sort of right to return to Hogwarts.”

“He is only sixteen, Cornelius. And terrified.”

“We’ll send a couple of Aurors to check in,” said Moody. “Keep an eye on him.”

Fudge looked doubtfully from Dumbledore to Moody, his fingers twitching over his bowler hat. He avoided looking at Sirius.

“Oh, all right. But one toe out of line and to Azkaban he goes.”

Hogwarts had always been a home to Sirius, ever since he’d first seen the castle shining amidst the stars as he and his classmates were borne across the lake in dozens of small boats. It was an escape from his wretched mother and overbearing father; a chance to be something other than the Black family heir. 

Dumbledore’s office was just as it had been last spring. Sirius might not have known he’d been thrust forward sixteen years in time if he had appeared here instead of the attic of the Potters’ manor. Mutely, he slumped in the chair before Dumbledore’s grand desk and hid his face in his hands.

The lacerations on his neck and arms stung, and his wrists and ankles ached from being chained for so long. Moody eventually barked at Fudge to release him, and it was Dumbledore who caught Sirius before he pitched forward. The weakness did not improve with the Floo which brought them from the Ministry of Magic to Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts.

The image Auror Moody had forced him to see now swam in his vision, and he nearly retched. What had he done? How did he manage to murder thirteen people? What had brought him to such a vile act? They thought him a Death Eater—but Sirius could never imagine himself joining something he’d always fought so vehemently against.

When Dumbledore returned with Madam Pomfrey, Sirius realized he hadn’t noticed Dumbledore leaving in the first place. Madam Pomfrey tutted as she applied a salve to the cuts on his arms and neck and wrists.

“You should have healed him before you interrogated him,” she told Dumbledore.

“I agree, but certain precautions were necessary.”

“Chaining a sixteen year old boy to an interrogation chair! A necessary precaution, you say? If three full grown wizards, including the Minister of Magic and the Headmaster of Hogwarts, can’t contain an underage wizard, Albus, I certainly fear for us all!”

The sigh that left the headmaster as he lowered into the throne-like chair behind his desk made it sound as if he quite agreed. Sirius hissed and jerked as Madam Pomfrey’s fingers slid over a large cut under his hair. She snapped at him to sit still.

“It hurts,” he muttered.

“What was it this time? You and those friends of yours were always getting into trouble. Never stopped to think of your own safety.”

“A mirror broke on top of me,” he told her. “And then I my foot went through the stair and I fell down the rest of the way.”

“Well, I believe it. You’ll need to rest until the sprain in your ankle eases. I will give you a potion for that, but I do not want to see you flying any broomsticks or running down stairs, do you understand? I would prefer if you spent the evening in the Hospital Wing…” She paused and glanced at Dumbledore. “However, I understand that may not be possible.”

“Thank you, Poppy. If you would excuse us, I would like to have a word with Mr. Black.”

“Of course, Headmaster. Please send for me when you are finished.” She retreated from the office, her footsteps disappearing into the corridor beyond.

“Professor…” Sirius started. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, the abandoned house, Moody’s harsh voice declaring his newfound family, dead. He stared at his palms, still dirty with dust. “Where is James? What happened to him? To them? Did I—was it me?”

“If I thought a way existed to send you back to the exact time you came from, Mr. Black, I would spare you the details of the future. However, as I told the Minister and Auror Moody, I believe that your journey here has created a rift, creating a new world. It is a very peculiar occurrence for a person from the past to travel to the future, possible only if a parallel plane has been generated, allowing you to exist here without creating a paradox. That said, you have traveled to a time where the person who lives here with your name has been convicted of terrible crimes. You are not that person, however. You are a young man of sixteen who has just lost what is most important to him.”

The future might not have been so bleak if at least James had been here. _Dead, he’s dead! He’s gone!_ He sniffed and dug his fingernails into his palms. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry, not in front of Dumbledore.

“Has this happened before?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” said Dumbledore. “Although I have never met another, I must assume there have been others who stumbled through time. Together we can see what we can find in our library, if you would like.”

“Do you think they go mad? People who go too far into the future and learn about what happened in their lives?”

The shadow in Dumbledore’s eyes made him look older, wearier.

“I will not pretend, Mr. Black, you will not like where the story goes for your counterpart in this world. The details are troublesome, but undoubtedly, you will learn of it eventually.”

“Just tell me,” Sirius burst. “What happened to James?”

But when Dumbledore told him, he wished he had never heard it. They had left Hogwarts, Sirius and his friends, and became involved with the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius had heard rumors of such an organization, and felt a puff of pride to be included, yet his elation turned to shame. After James and Lily Evans married and had their son, it was soon clear that Lord Voldemort was targeting them. Eventually, Dumbledore explained, they went into hiding. They chose to use the Fidelius Charm which would shield their location, but the individual they trusted to keep them safe betrayed them to Voldemort.

“I wouldn’t—I would never—” Sirius choked.

“We may never understand why it happened or how these choices were made. You will make different decisions, Sirius. This will not be your future.”

The story did not end there, unfortunately. In the end, it was Peter who hunted him down. Little Peter Pettigrew, loyal to the last, who was caught in the blast and blown apart in the middle of the street. It wasn’t enough to simply kill his friend, however. Twelve muggles were slaughtered too, victims of this terrible Sirius from the future.

_He was only a few years older than you,_ a voice hissed. _He is you. You’re just like him, like Bellatrix. You’re a murderer._

Whatever shred of dignity he clung to slipped from his grasp and he buried his head in his hands. James was dead because of him. He had killed James on purpose, sold him to Voldemort. Why had he done it? His best friend—his brother— What could he have gained from destroying the only thing he cared about?

He cried for what felt like hours until he felt the strong hand of the headmaster on his shoulder. With a final sob, he looked up at Dumbledore.

“Where is Remus? What happened to him?”

“Remus is alive, and doing as well as he can.”

“I have to see him,” said Sirius. “He’s the only person who—” But Remus wouldn’t understand, not if he could only see Sirius as the person who murdered their best friends.

“You must understand, the world will not see you kindly. We will consider all options, of course, but I have a proposal that I hope you will think on.”

The proposal was disguise. If there were no way to send him back to where he had come, he would be forced to live his life in the future. Sharing his name with a notorious mass murderer, however, would make his life quite difficult. Dumbledore was offering anonymity. A chance to complete his studies under an assumed name, become someone else.

Sirius did not agree immediately.

“Think on it,” Dumbledore said.

* * *

There were rooms at Hogwarts for guests, ones that only the headmaster could reveal and only the guest could access. The suite was far nicer than the dormitories. Although the ceiling was low and the floor and walls were lined with flagstones, lavish rugs and heavy drapery over the windows made the room cozy…and warm. _Too warm,_ Sirius had thought the first night. He’d wrenched back the covers on the bed and thrust the window open for a breath of northern wind.

A small bathroom featured a large tub in which he’d soaked for nearly an hour as he tried to understand what had happened to him.

Two of his best friends were dead and the last probably loathed him. What would Remus be like now? Was he alone? Was he married? Did he transform alone? A spike of guilt made him want to drown himself, knowing that it was probably impossible that Remus had found other Animagi willing to spend the full moon with a werewolf. _You did that,_ he thought. _It’s your fault he’s alone now. You ruined his life._

The first few days in the future were quite boring, Sirius concluded after the week was over. In a short time, a new routine emerged: he got out of bed, he ate breakfast alone, he wandered the castle, he ate lunch, he wandered the grounds, he ate dinner with Dumbledore in the headmaster’s office, and then they both retired to their rooms. It was no use sneaking about the castle at night—there was no one to catch him and no one to care what he did—so he mostly spent his evenings doing the crossword from the _Daily Prophet,_ writing letters to Remus that all ended up crumpled in the bin, and practicing his Animagus transformation.

There was no one other than Dumbledore, Fawkes, or Madam Pomfrey to talk to in the castle. Although there was another teacher said to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, Sirius had never seen her. Professor Trelawney, as she was called, preferred to keep to herself.

He tested all of the school brooms, none of which seemed to be replaced since his time at school. Sometimes he would look over at Hagrid’s hut and see movement in the pumpkin patch, but Dumbledore warned him to give Hagrid time before he approached. Hagrid, it seemed, had been there after James had been killed and would not find Sirius’s company amicable.

Hogwarts could make one forget that a decade and a half had passed. Too many times did Sirius accidently make his way to Gryffindor Tower only to remember that he didn’t sleep there anymore and he would never cross through the portrait hole James lounging on the sofa again. He’d never bump into Lily Evans and wonder why James was so infatuated. He would never again hear Peter complain about the length of a Charms essay. He would never see James or Peter transform into their Animagus forms while they kept Remus company during his transformations.

They were supposed to meet up for the full moon that summer, Sirius remembered miserably. Remus was supposed to reveal where he was to transform, and he, James and Peter would find a way there. He and James had been looking forward to it following the birthday party for Mr. Potter.

For four years, Sirius had kept his eye on the lunar chart, but he’d forgotten since his arrival. One evening as he lounged on the Astronomy Tower, gazing at the stars and wishing his friends were with him, he was startled to see the moon rising over the tops of the trees. It was nearly full, he realized.

_Tomorrow_ , he thought.

It was a stupid idea, but Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. A week of being cooped up in the castle with too much freedom, too much time on his hands was driving him mad. Before he could consider whether or not it was a good idea, he decided to do it anyway.

Just after dinner with the headmaster on the following day, Sirius excused himself for bed. Sirius ensured he was alone before he tapped the statue of the one-eyed witch who guarded the secret passageway to Honeyduke’s in Hogsmeade and stumbled on his way. It was so dark, he could almost imagine James before him, hissing as he tripped over something or telling them all to hurry. Like he’d done so many times, he tested the trapdoor at the end and peered into the cellar of the sweet shop.

With practiced ease, he clambered from the trap door and slinked from the cellar. To his relief, there were already a few customers clustered in the store which gave him enough cover to sneak from the shop.

There was a fireplace connected to the Floo at the Three Broomsticks. If he could just avoid Madam Rosmerta who was sure to recognize him, he could do it. He was slinking around an alleyway when it occurred to him—why sneak around without a disguise? Transforming into Padfoot, the great black dog, was still such a strange concept to him. Soon enough, he was trotting through Hogsmeade, black fur gleaming in the summer sun as he made his way to the Three Broomsticks.

The door nudged open when he pressed his nose to the gap, and he stole inside, creeping around and under tables. Though not the bustling pub he knew from Hogsmeade weekends, there were plenty of legs to hide behind as he journeyed deeper into the pub. A few pats on the head was all the attention he received. Careful that he wasn’t noticed, he transformed in the loo back into his human self before making for the fireplace.

Seated at the table closest to it were two witches, both of them with squinty eyes and wrinkled faces, their hats sliding over their foreheads. Neither of them saw him take a handful of Floo Powder and toss it into the fire. Loudly, he said, “Remus Lupin’s place!” and before anyone could take notice, he’d been sucked into the fireplace.

Before long, he stumbled out onto a rug, into the middle of a quaint sitting room. Although the sofa was nearly threadbare and there were several books sprawled over the table, the rest of the room was neatly arranged. A chair faced the sofa conversationally, as if the owner anticipated long chats before the fire. An ottoman held a wooden tray, awaiting someone to set their tea on it. There were dozens of books on a low shelving unit, most of them used or well-read. Photographs on the mantle assured Sirius he had the right place.

He reached for a silver frame, tilting his head as he observed the photo inside. There were three people in it—James, Lily Evans, and a small baby. James and Lily were beaming, but the infant with the mop of black hair only slept in their arms, too young to stay awake for a picture. His hand trembled as he made to replace it on the shelf, but his hand shook too much and it fell, shattering on the tiles. He cursed and stooped to pick up the shards.

“Hello?” a startled voice called from the kitchen.

A bit of glass sliced through the flesh of his thumb. He hastily shoved the frame back on the mantle and hid the bleeding hand behind his back.

“Is someone—?” The words froze on Remus’s lips as he emerged in the sitting room. Blood drained from his face as he beheld Sirius, sixteen and sheepish before him. Although Remus was motionless, the loathing that radiated from him was palpable. In an instant, his wand was out.

Sirius knew it had been a mistake. He should not have come here. He should have listened to Dumbledore.

“You,” said Remus, voice low. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius held his hands up. The blood from his thumb dribbled down his wrist under his shirtsleeve; he could feel it run all the way to his elbow.

“Didn’t Dumbledore tell you about me?”

“He did,” said Remus. “He invited me to reach out to you when I thought it appropriate.”

“But you were never going to, were you?”

Remus, twice as old as Sirius remembered him, looked just as livid as he had the morning after that ill-conceived joke on Snape. He was ready to curse him, to strike him. The grip on his wand tightened with white knuckles.

“No,” said Remus. “I wasn’t. What you did—what you did to James and Lily—to Peter— Sirius, how could you think I would want to see you again? After all that happened? How could you show up here, unannounced just as—” he swallowed, glancing at the sun which was very low. “Just before sunset? Tonight of all nights, Sirius?”

“That’s why I came,” said Sirius. “I thought I would keep you company. I know it’s probably been awhile since you’ve had someone around with you while you transformed.”

Remus took a menacing step forward. “Because of _you_. I am alone because of what you did. You mad, stupid _child_. Did you come here to mock me, Sirius? Did you think maybe you hadn’t put me through enough pain?”

Sirius wanted to shout at him that he hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t him. _It wasn’t him_. Not yet, at least. Remus was his friend, one of his best friends. Why couldn’t Remus see him for who he was now?

The blood’s sticky flow from his thumb meandered down the lines of his palm. Where the glass had cut, his flesh stung.

“I’m sorry, Moony. I just wanted to help you tonight.”

It was true. He didn’t know what he thought it would be like to see Remus in this time, sixteen years disconnected from the friendship they once shared. But he remembered how it had helped, how Remus would awake with fewer injuries the following morning, how it took his less time to return to his usual self once he had company in the Shrieking Shack.

Remus lowered his wand slowly, drawing in a cleansing breath. The shock had worn off; it took with it the rage that had been welling inside.

“Is that why? Really?”

Sirius nodded uncertainly. “I should have asked first, but I was afraid you would say no.”

Remus scowled. “So you did it anyway. You need to leave, Sirius. You can’t be here while I’m…when the sun goes down.”

“Why not? I know the risks, but I’m willing to chance it. You’re my friend, Moony. I promised you I would always be there if I could.”

“Don’t call me that,” Remus ground out. “Leave, Sirius.”

“No,” said Sirius. “If I leave, I’ll just come back while you’re transformed and join you then. I’m here, whether you like it or not.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“Where are you transforming? The sun is about to set—”

“I _know_ , Sirius. _Leave_.”

“I’m not—”

The wand was in his face suddenly, and the anger Remus had tried to suppress was bubbling again. Sirius gripped the wrist of Remus’s wand hand, the blood from his thumb spilling onto a white sleeve.

“You don’t want me to go,” said Sirius. “You don’t like transforming alone, but you feel guilty about it because you think I killed our friends. I didn’t, Remus, and I won’t. The person who did it is in Azkaban. I’m your friend, and I will never do what he did.”

“You can’t know that,” Remus said.

“I do, though. I will _not_ make his choices. I’m different. Come on, we’ve got to get you where you need to be. I don’t think we have five minutes.”

To Remus’s ire, he must have known Sirius was right. He wrenched his arm from Sirius’s grip and led them out the cottage door where he showed the iron doors of an underground cellar. The doors flew open with a flick of a wand, and Sirius followed him into the earthy chamber. Remus was rigid as a lamp flickered on, lighting a space that may have been magically enlarged, but still far too small for a werewolf to run around.

“What is this place?” said Sirius, suppressing a shiver at the dampness.

“Last chance, Sirius. I am going to secure the door. I cannot promise the wolf won’t tear you to shreds.”

Sirius swallowed, forcing himself not to look at the double doors overhead. He nodded at Remus to seal it.

There were only a few minutes until the sun would set completely, allowing the full moon its reign in the sky. Remus took Sirius by the arm and inspected the slice on his thumb before cleaning it with a painful _Scourgify!_ The blood vanished from his skin and sleeve.

“The wolf would go mad if it smelled human blood,” Remus explained as if to say he hadn’t done it out of kindness.

“Thanks, anyway.”

“Transform now.”

“But it’s still minutes away—”

“Have you forgotten the rules so quickly, Sirius? You do what I say when it comes to the full moon. If I tell you to transform, you transform. Do it.”

Sirius cast one last look at Remus who seemed so weary, so tired. He transformed into the dog. He couldn’t help nudging the black head against Remus’s leg. A hand, as if on its own accord, stroked Padfoot’s head.

With a sigh, Remus sat on the damp floor of the cellar, stroking the soft fur of Padfoot’s mane. The moon’s power was drawing near.

“I don’t hate you, Sirius,” he said quietly. “You’ve not done anything wrong, not yet, but you must understand how it is for me. I’ve lost everything because of you.”

Whatever more he intended to say would have to wait until morning. Padfoot moved away as Remus hastened to remove his clothes before the wolf began to take over. Several times already he had seen it happen, watched as the werewolf grappled with the body of his friend, elongating his face and breaking his limbs. He was witnessing a pain he hoped he would never know himself.

Before he realized it, a blur of grey fur flashed in front of him, and Padfoot was thrust to the ground. Fear bloomed in his chest as the wolf stood over him, snarling and heaving ragged breaths. Padfoot slinked backward until his tail brushed the earthen wall. The wolf was on him in a second.

But the pain of those teeth never came. Wolf and dog rolled, a mass of black and grey fur over the floor, and when Padfoot heaved to his feet, he saw that Moony’s tail wagged. Delighted, Padfoot barked and was back into the fray.

They spent the night tumbling and barking, playing and biting. It must have been nearly four in the morning when finally Moony grew too exhausted to keep going and trudged to a corner to plop down on the floor. Padfoot followed, dropping his head on the wolf’s stomach, and he slept like that until the sun rose.


	2. Here to Stay

_A week earlier…_

Once he thought that someone might come to save him. Sometimes in the early days, footsteps would draw him to his own feet to watch whoever came down the row of cells, a seed of hope planted in his brain that it was Dumbledore or Remus come to fetch him from his misfortune. But they never came. No one did. No one seemed to question his role in James’s murder. No one doubted he slaughtered those people. No one even came to ask him why he’d done it.

Those first handful of years taught him that he was alone. There would be no rescue. The world would go on without him, and people would remember his name with a shiver and thank Merlin he’d been locked away forever.

He looked up. A dull morning glow showed that the walls were gouged with crosshatches meant to denote the days. A sardonic laugh rumbled his hollow chest. Years ago, when he’d first arrived, he thought he would mark each sunrise so he would know how much time had passed. It lasted a few years, at least three, but as time stretched, he realized it didn’t matter. Why should he care how many days had gone by since he’d been imprisoned? Did it change his circumstances? He would die here, and counting the days wouldn’t make a difference.

It must have been at least a decade since he’d come to Azkaban. There were no mirrors, but he saw his hands wasting away. Once every few years, he was assessed for health, his hair was snipped, and his photograph was taken. He hated to be treated like an animal, but he lived for the precious hour when he left his cell and made unrequited conversation with the human guards. They hated it. Unlike his fellow inmates, he spoke with clarity and expression which troubled the guards. They must have thought he was using dark magic to keep himself sane, but it wasn’t dark magic at all—it was only the truth.

Sirius wished he’d gone insane. He wished his mind were devoid of coherent thoughts. He wished he could be like the others and simply waste away.

Sometimes he paced his cell. Some days he would lay on the damp stone floor and stare at the blackened ceiling. The same circle of thoughts played out in his mind. He plotted revenge (not precisely a happy thoughts, just a satisfying ones). He imagined what Remus must have been doing. He wondered what Dumbledore thought of him. What happened to Harry? Was he still with Lily’s miserable sister? All of these ideas kept him wobbling on the cliff of despair—they were _just_ dismal enough that the dementors would let him keep them, and they were neutral enough that they kept his brain ticking.

Yet the day had come when it all seemed so futile, he stopped feeling hungry.

The door opened like it always did and a rotting hand deposited a bowl of food on the floor, but Sirius did not move from where he lay on the moldy mattress. Thousands of mornings had come like this one—exactly like this one—and each day, he rose and ate whatever they gave him. The desire to live compelled him to get up, eat, and spend another day breathing.

It would probably only take a week, he thought. A week without food in his emaciated state. Then it could be over. Over a decade of suffering would come to an end and he could be at peace.

Fear of dying had left him long ago. Death was inevitable, after all, and it would have been blissful to slip away into black oblivion if only a sense of duty hadn’t kept him rooted to life. But what chance did he have of escaping and committing the murder for which he was imprisoned? Wormtail was long gone, and even if Sirius did escape, how would he find him anyway? He might’ve laughed. In the years he’d been imprisoned, he hadn’t devised a single way to escape, and now he knew—he was really going to die here.

So what was holding him back?

The image of a crying child flashed in his mind, though he brushed the thought away. _If it weren’t for you, Harry would still have parents,_ he told himself. _He’s better off without you. You’re more useful to him dead._

Banishing Harry from his mind left nothing, not even revenge, and he realized then that dementors had not devoured every shred of hope he held in his heart. There had been a light in his chest, a tiny flickering warmth that kept him tethered to the world, but now, it had gone out.

“I want to die,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. He might as well sleep.

Something struck him in his core. It was like someone had struck him in the abdomen, leaving him slightly breathless. For a moment, he lay there, baffled. Then Sirius shot up, clutching the concave spot below his ribs as a cold sweat broke out across his body. He frowned, staring down at his robes, searching for whatever hit him. There was nothing. There was _always_ nothing, yet it felt like someone had tugged on the invisible cord of his essence. He scrambled from the mattress and tore off his clothes to observe his stomach. _Nothing_.

But he felt it. There was nothing to do in Azkaban but _feel_ and right there, right in his core, he knew something was different. Something had changed.

He glanced at the food near the door, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat. Whatever had happened, it was new, and perhaps he ought to stick around for it.

\--

Remus was already up and dressed by the time Padfoot opened bleary eyes. The cellar door was open, allowing the overcast morning to shed light into the space. Sirius transformed and—yawning and stretching—followed Remus out.

“The wolf still likes me,” Sirius commented. His pressed his hands on the wet grass to haul himself out of the hole. “Did you have fun, at least?”

Remus held open the door to the cottage for him, face stiff as he hid a smile. Sirius grinned at him.

“You did, didn’t you? You’re so old, Moony. Just say you had fun.”

“It was incredibly dangerous,” said Remus. “There was no way to know how the wolf would react. You could have been killed.”

Sirius dropped onto the sofa. “Bet you would’ve liked it if I had been.”

The door slammed shut, and he was met with an unamused look.

“Don’t say that.”

Remus lowered himself onto the sofa and his body, ravaged by the wolf, sagged into the cushions. He closed his eyes.

He looked so thin and ragged. There were lines around his mouth, his jaw had hardened, stubble grew in patches on his chin and cheeks, and the circles beneath his eyes made him look older than his thirty-two years. Remus the adult, lived alone, transformed alone, and appeared to be living off Knuts if the rundown cottage was anything to go by. The place was tidy, but the sofa, chair, and rug had long lost their newness likely to previous owners. There were a few things Sirius recognized, however, including a crocheted blanket that Mrs. Lupin had made for him one Christmas, which was carefully folded on the chair. Sirius had been strangely envious of the blanket, even more so than the carousel of gifts James received from his parents. Although the Lupins couldn’t afford to give their son much, Mrs. Lupin had labored into a gift for her son. Sirius could never have dreamed his mother or father would do the same.

Sirius retrieved it now and carefully laid it over Remus, who threw it off a moment later.

“Too hot,” he told him. He cracked open an eye. “But thank you, Sirius.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“Thought you said it was too hot.”

“Never too hot for tea. You’ll find tea leaves in one of the cupboards.”

Remus’s eyelids slid shut as Sirius went to the kitchen to hunt for tea leaves and a kettle.

The dented kettle was easy enough to find on the stovetop. Sirius rummaged through a number of drawers and doors, catching eyes with a mouse and swatting a few spiders before he found the right tin. He pursed his lips. There wasn’t much left. It would be a rather weak brew.

He couldn’t understand how to work the stove. Mrs. Lupin had trifled over a stovetop as such, applying a lit match and turning a knob to make the fire go. He knew he had to light it somewhere but he hadn’t watched properly the one time he visited the Lupins over the Easter holiday.

Sheepishly, Sirius brought the load of tea and kettle to Remus.

“I—er—the muggle thing in there. I don’t know—it’s complicated. Don’t know how to work it,” he said.

Remus raised himself up and brought his wand tip to the kettle, and soon, steam billowed from the spout. “You’re underage, I’d forgotten. Please do not use the stove as I fear you will most certainly burn this house down.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Sirius, grinning. “I’d have to buy you a new one.”

Remus did not smile. He lay back with his eyes closed, though his breathing was too shallow for slumber. Sirius sighed and sank into the chair. Somewhere a clock ticked.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” said Remus.

Sirius imagined Dumbledore and the House-Elves frantically searching the castle for him, and oddly did not feel the least bit bad about it. In fact, he thought it was rather funny.

“No, didn’t think I needed to tell anyone,” Sirius replied. “I’m almost seventeen—I can go where I want.”

Remus looked at him. “You don’t suppose your host might be concerned that something has happened to you? That it would have been polite to mention you might take your leave?”

“You think Dumbledore cares whether or not I’ve left? He hasn’t spoken more than a few words to me since he took me from the Ministry.”

“He’ll worry, Sirius. No one gave you permission to leave the castle.”

“So?” said Sirius harshly. “What’s he going to do? I’m not supposed to be here. Nothing I do has a consequence. Dumbledore doesn’t even want me to use my own name when the new term comes around, so what does it matter what I do?”

“He’s invited you back to Hogwarts?”

“I still have two years left, don’t I?” he said. Then he scoffed. “He thinks it’s best if I finished my schooling and pretend to be someone else for the rest of my life. Try to move on. Forget about James and Peter.”

A sense of rigid calm came over Remus, as if he were contending with the same thoughts. He drew a deep breath. “The name Sirius Black _does_ draw negative connotations. It would be difficult to pass yourself off as a cousin with the same name.”

“Why should I hide who I am at all?” said Sirius. He held up a hand before Remus could answer, understanding exactly why already. “All right, a lot of reasons, yeah. I realize that. But I don’t want to live my life hiding who I am.”

“Imagine that,” said Remus. He conjured mugs from the kitchen and levitated the kettle to serve into them. “Take it from me,” he said, sending one drifting through the air for Sirius to catch. “Sometimes it’s best to hide what others loathe most about us if it enables to live our lives as normally as possible. Your classmates will never see past your name until you let them. Hide what you can, reveal only to those you trust what you must—or what they force out of you, I suppose. It’s the only advice I can give you from my own experience.”

Sirius craned his neck to stare at a long crack in the white plaster ceiling. “I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts.”

“You don’t want to finish your schooling?”

“What’s the point? If the Black vaults are mine, I’ll never need to work. Who cares if I finish school?”

Remus frowned, lowering the mug from his lips. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It’s me now,” Sirius said. “I can’t live the next two years at Hogwarts as if—as if James and Peter were never there. What am I supposed to do? Go to class and pretend it’s normal? It won’t be the same, not without you and Prongs and Wormtail.”

“It would be difficult,” admitted Remus. “I won’t deny it, it won’t be an easy journey, but consider what will happen if you don’t finish. There is plenty left for you to learn at Hogwarts. At the very least, you will learn the particulars that you would find most useful. Non-verbal spells, for example.”

“You could teach me,” muttered Sirius. At Remus’s uncertain look, Sirius shrugged.

“Does Dumbledore intend to keep you at Hogwarts until you’ve finished?”

Sirius’s shoulders flopped up and down again. “I dunno. Said he’d look for a guardian of sorts. I only really need one for this summer, don’t I? I’m seventeen in November. Maybe he expects I’ll find my own place next summer. Unless…”

Remus’s eyes narrowed at the lingering tone. His fingers were white on his mug.

“Unless?”

It seemed premature to ask. He needed to strategize and get Remus to see that it was in his best interest to host him. That’s how they always approached things with Remus. If they were to sneak into Hogsmeade for butterbeers, it was best to convince their cautious friend that if he didn’t join them, they’d go and likely get caught without him.

He dreaded returning to Hogwarts only to mope about the castle until the term started. It wasn’t the same searching for secret passageways or rooms if his friends weren’t there to marvel with him or excitedly mark it on the Map. Soon Remus would insist he leave and return to the melancholy of chatting solely with ghosts and portraits, and desperately, Sirius wished to stay with Remus in his crumbling cottage. In his experience, the single-most effective way to get Remus to do anything was to make him feel guilty.

“I haven’t got anyone to talk to at Hogwarts,” Sirius started. “All I can think about is the fact that James isn’t there. Peter isn’t there. You’re not there. There’s nothing I can do without being reminded of what happened to me, and how I killed my best friends. Dumbledore is afraid of me, the teachers who stay at school avoid me, and even Hagrid won’t come up to the castle now. I can’t live like this all summer.”

Remus sipped his tea, his face impassive.

“If I spend one more day there, I’ll go insane,” said Sirius, thrusting a bit of urgency in his voice. Damn, Moony, for not reacting. “Everyone hates me, I can’t sleep, and I know at some point, Dumbledore’s going to shove me into a wizarding family I don’t know and they’ll hate me too. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Moony.”

The mug was empty when Remus reached and shoved it onto the table. He lay back on the cushions, allowing himself to shut his eyes as a ray of sunlight poked through a cloud and drew over his brow. The light made him look youthful, almost like the Remus he knew.

“It won’t work,” said Remus, his eyes still closed.

“What?”

“You can’t guilt me anymore. I am not sixteen. If you want something, ask me.”

Sirius swallowed. It was a lot to ask of someone who had known a version of him that ended up being a traitor and murderer, the cause of all of Remus’s remorse. Could Remus ever see him as someone different? As someone who wouldn’t send their friends to their deaths?

There came a gentle knock on the door. Sirius jumped, and Remus only blinked.

“Perhaps the headmaster has found you.”

If Sirius had been only a few years younger, he might have trembled at the thought of so disappointing Albus Dumbledore. However, as he went for the door, he felt calm. What was the worst the headmaster could do? Expel him from school?

When he opened the door, Dumbledore’s face betrayed only soft relief. He smiled at Sirius as if grateful to see him.

“Sorry, Professor,” mumbled Sirius, opening the door wide.

“It was one of only two places I suspected you might be,” said Dumbledore. His purple robes swished as he strolled into the cottage, as if it were a grand hall rather than a deteriorating house. Remus was scrambling to his feet when Dumbledore gestured for him to be at ease.

“You needn’t spring to attention on my account,” said Dumbledore. “Please, sit. I’ve only come to confirm our Mr. Black’s whereabouts. I assure you, this is not a formal visit.”

“Yes, sir,” said Remus, unable to stop himself from collapsing back down. “I should have told you he was here, but it was just before sunset and it was paramount that I go below ground before the moon rose. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Completely,” said Dumbledore.

Sirius stood awkwardly to the side, clenching his fists. He rather felt like he was seven again as his mother fetched him from the park across the street, all false smiles before she smacked him in the corridor of Number 12.

“Sirius, I do hope you understand the worry we’ve all had since we realized your disappearance. However, it should not diminish the relief of finding you perfectly well! I trust you were safe during Remus’s transformation?”

Sirius nodded dumbly. “Er—yeah, he’s got a cellar that he locks up. I just stayed here. In the cottage. All night.”

“There are wards all around the house,” Remus said. “My father stays here sometimes while I transform, and we’ve proofed the house so if—so if I escaped the cellar, he would remain safe. I wouldn’t have allowed Sirius to stay without them.”

Idly, Remus avoided looking at Dumbledore directly. Had Sirius not known him so well, he might have assumed Remus was merely embarrassed over his actions, allowing Sirius to remain at his home during the full moon. However, it was the secret of Sirius spending the night as a dog with a werewolf that was heavy in their minds, and it was understood that Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens. A peek into either of their thoughts would reveal all.

“Remus and I were talking about the summer,” Sirius said quickly.

“Were you? A riveting conversation, I should hope. Did it have anything to do with becoming a permanent guest here?”

When Sirius chanced a glance, Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling. Sirius wrung his hands behind his back, glancing from the headmaster to Remus whose expression had turned a bit sour.

“I was about to ask him,” said Sirius. “Of course, I wanted to ask _your_ permission first, Professor. I understand it isn’t my decision, and I must respect your authority on this matter, of course.”

“It is not up to me,” said Dumbledore, “but to Remus, should he accept the responsibility of hosting you. I did assure the Ministry of Magic that you would be under my supervision for the remainder of the holiday. However, it would not be unreasonable to suggest you be allowed to visit a friend for a few weeks until the term began. That is, if Remus were to agree.”

Uncertainty washed over Remus. Thoroughly put on the spot, it looked as though Remus were being asked if he saw his friends breaking the rules. His lips pursed as his gaze twitched between Sirius and Dumbledore and back to his hands.

Something surged within Sirius—it was the refusal to hear his old friend for whom he’d become an Animagus, for whom he’d do anything, reject him.

“We should let him be, Professor,” he said quickly. “He wants us to leave.”

“Don’t speak for me, Sirius,” Remus snapped. He turned his attention back to Dumbledore. “Sirius may stay. I-I confess I may not have the necessary funds to support the two of us, so perhaps a short visit might only be possible.”

Sirius beamed.

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “I will grant a stipend for his welfare, enough to cover basic needs. It is what I have already set aside for him should his care at Hogwarts be extended. I understand that you will ensure his safety at the next full moon?”

“Of course, sir,” Remus blurted. “I would never endanger anyone.”

“I never thought differently,” said Dumbledore. “I must thank you, Remus, for allowing Sirius to stay. The company of an old friend should help tremendously with his transition to this new world. Sirius, would you indulge me in a brief chat outside?”

Sirius expected a formal admonishment from Dumbledore. The headmaster led him beyond the door, closing it gently behind him, and Sirius stood, once again, with his hands clasped behind him as he awaited a monologue of disappointment.

“I’m glad you are safe,” said Dumbledore. His eyes flickered to the chipped paint of the door as if looking through it. “Be gentle with Remus. Life has not been exceptionally kind or thoughtful to such a remarkably kind and thoughtful man. Even the best of us are susceptible to prejudice. Show him the goodness he once knew in you, and I haven’t any doubt he will be your friend once more.”

That was all Dumbledore had to say, other than his assurance that he’d send whatever Sirius had left behind at Hogwarts if he did not want to retrieve them himself. The wariness the headmaster had worn the evening he brought Sirius from the Ministry back to Hogwarts had vanished under a mask of warmth and compassion that Sirius couldn’t deny set him at ease. This was how Dumbledore built armies, he thought. Forgiveness. Second chances. The willingness to convince everyone he saw the good in them, that they were worth redeeming. A manipulation he desperately wanted to see through but couldn’t help sinking into like an embrace.

“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius heard himself say.

Dumbledore nodded and bid him farewell. He entered the cottage, leaving Sirius behind in order to say one last thing to Remus just before he Disapparated.

\--

Sirius helped Remus up to the minuscule bedroom upstairs.

A twin bed engulfed the space, forcing Sirius to shuffle awkwardly with Remus’s arm slung over his shoulders.

“How d’you get up here on your own?” Sirius said, heaving a breath as Remus slumped down onto the bed.

“I usually don’t,” admitted Remus. “At least for the first few hours. By the afternoon, I’m usually well enough to get up and feed myself, and by the evening, I can usually climb the stairs.”

“How’d you come by this place?”

Remus settled back against the lumpy pillow. “James gave it to me.”

That surprised Sirius who’d never known Remus to accept a gift that cost more than a handful of galleons. Remus smirked at his wide-eyed look.

“I tried to refuse, of course, but James insisted or else it would go to the Ministry.”

“What do you mean?”

“When James’s parents died,” he said slowly, watching Sirius carefully, “a number of properties became his responsibility. This one in particular belonged to a Potter called Wassa who was an ancient witch known for enchanting trees to talk. James discovered its existence from a scroll he found in his father’s bureau and realized it was a perfect place for a werewolf and three Animagi to transform. The cottage was hers, though back then it was really just one room. James wanted to build an entirely new house, but I liked it, so we cleared out all of the animal bones and added a few rooms, and I’ve lived here ever since.”

The painful reminder that James and Mr. and Mrs. Potter were dead kept him from asking more, and he got the sense that Remus didn’t want to talk about them either. Instead, Sirius told Remus he would let him sleep and retreated to the even smaller room across the way.

There was another twin bed pushed into the corner. It was starkly bare—a naked mattress on a rusted iron frame that seemed more like something Remus found on a street corner than picked out in a shop. He ran a hand over the thin mattress, picking up a bit of dust as he did. So Remus didn’t receive a lot of guests, obviously.

Beside the bed on a small wooden chair was a strange stack of robes and toiletries which after a moment, Sirius realized were the things he’d found in the wardrobe at Hogwarts. There was nowhere to put them in the room except to leave them on the chair.

Beneath the bedframe, he found a set of sheets, a quilt, and a pillow which all smelled faintly musty, likely due to a worn preservation charm. He didn’t care. He’d sleep on a bed of hay if it meant he could stay with Remus. He’d sleep in the cellar as Padfoot if he had to. Anything was better than wandering Hogwarts alone for another few weeks.

As Sirius came to understand, however, hosting the sixteen-year-old version of his former best friend was not easy for Remus.

There was too much Sirius did not know, and simply too much that might strike Remus as emotionally jarring without Sirius realizing. Simply asking about James and Lily and how they got together had turned Remus sullen, though it seemed innocent enough when he’d asked. A tentative question about their son made Remus withdraw completely for an hour. It wasn’t as lonely as Hogwarts, of course. Tiptoeing around an old friend and keeping his questions to a minimum was preferable to wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, wishing he had someone—anyone—to talk to.

Remus was between jobs, the last having been a groundskeeper position for a Muggle library. According to Remus, they were unimpressed by the several days a month for which he was forced to claim absences. In the end, they needed someone more dependable.

There was a vault at Gringotts that belonged to the Black family, Sirius knew. With no one to share it, the fortune would make Sirius one of the wealthiest young men in Britain. He had no key to it, though he understood that exceptions could be made, particularly since he still had his wand. Would the goblins care that he was from the past? The vault was his, regardless of time. He knew they had little patience for wizarding politics, so perhaps they would simply allow him to take what was his.

The trick would be getting Remus to recognize his worth and accept a bit of financial stability. After all, Sirius could hope to spend all of his fortune, and it rather disgusted him to have it all to himself. If Remus wouldn’t accept it, blackmail was always an option.

He decided to broach the idea a few days into their new situation while he helped Remus fix dinner for them. Neither of them were exceptional cooks, for Sirius had never had the need to do it for himself and Remus had always been dreadful at following careful, written instructions. At their disposal, however, was a handwritten book of simple recipes that Mrs. Lupin had penned long before she passed away as if she’d known Remus would need help to feed himself after she died. _All you need is a little home garden_ , she had written.

With the stipend Dumbledore had sent, Remus bought chicken and an assortment of vegetables that hadn’t fit in his little garden. He showed Sirius how to light the stove without sending the house up in flames, and soon, Sirius was following Mrs. Lupin’s instructions and serving them both.

On that evening, Remus had measured incorrectly a number of herbs, which flabbergasted Sirius who sent Remus to sit and let him do it. Sheepishly, the older man sank into a kitchen chair, out of the way.

“You always got the hang of new things so quickly,” muttered Remus, watching as Sirius shoved a tray of chicken and vegetables into the oven to roast.

“Because it’s not that hard, Moony. You were rubbish at Potions, though, I guess. I suppose you didn’t end up in the N.E.W.T. level class?”

“Oddly enough, I did. I did manage an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L.”

“But you were just complaining—well, before I came here—you’d written that you were worried that you’d failed your Potions exam.”

Remus smiled. “Well, admittedly I was a rather humble student. Never quite believed I was as intelligent as I was.”

“Ah, that must have been it. Your extraordinary humility.”

The chair squealed on the tile floor as Sirius pulled it out to sit across from Remus. On the table between them lay his letter from Hogwarts, inviting him back for another year with a list of books and supplies he would need for the new term. The seal had yet to be broken.

“Why haven’t you read it yet?” said Remus. He slid the letter forward until it sat before Sirius, undeniable.

Something kept him from breaking it open. It felt like if he unsealed it, it meant that he had accepted this new world, that he agreed to return for his final years at Hogwarts without the rest of the Marauders. Every time he went to peel back the seal, he realized he needed to use the toilet or have a drink of water.

“I don’t want to think about school,” said Sirius. He rested his hand on the envelope, covering the address. “Bit odd, don’t you think? As if it’s all normal. Like it’s only another year at Hogwarts. At least it’s addressed to me, not whatever character we’ve come up with. I don’t even know a Prewett.”

Remus and Dumbledore had settled on a name without his input. Lysander Prewett. A stupid name, Sirius had thought at first. What the name indicated, as Remus explained, was that he was from a pureblood family yet one with relative anonymity. There weren’t many Prewetts left, and any who were hadn’t any children at Hogwarts. The closest relatives were Weasleys, but Dumbledore did not see the family as a threat to Sirius’s disguise—Arthur Weasley and his wife Molly had been informed of the ruse, and though they weren’t entirely keen on their son sharing a dormitory with Sirius, they agreed to keep his identity secret.

“Why can’t I be a Potter? There’s hardly any of those left,” Sirius had grumbled.

“Do you suppose you’ll have much anonymity sharing the surname of the most famous boy in the country? The Prewetts are a far safer choice.”

Sirius stewed over it for a few hours until the name became palatable on his tongue. Lysander wasn’t so bad. There were Greek names in each branch of the Black tree—a constellation of pretention, and Lysander wasn’t too far removed from what Sirius was accustomed. It was a relief to discover his own name on his Hogwarts letter, however.

But there it sat.

“Open it,” said Remus. “Sooner or later, you’ll need to before we go to Diagon Alley.”

Sirius’s finger slid beneath the seal and cracked it. Just as it had been years ago, the letter welcomed him back to school and advised him to acquire the following list of supplies. At first, it seemed fairly standard: _Advanced Potion-Making, A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_. But to his confusion, a list of books beneath the rest seemed outside of the norm.

“A lot of books written by some bloke called Lockhart,” Sirius muttered as his eyes wandered down the lines of required texts. “ _Wanderings with Werewolves?_ What sort of rubbish is this? Look at this. _Voyages with Vampires, Year with the Yeti?_ What do you make of that?”

Remus took it, eyes raking the long list. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart. Er—perhaps Dumbledore had a bit more trouble than usual hiring a new teacher this year.”

“So the job really is cursed, is it?”

In Sirius’s time at Hogwarts, each year had seen a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor come and go. Usually some accident caused the teacher to leave suddenly, or a family emergency made it impossible for the teacher to return, or in one case, the teacher was simply enough of a bully that Sirius and his friends had bullied him right back and forced him out of school.

With one last, uneasy look, Remus set the letter down and offered it back.

“I’m not usually inclined to believe in curses, but yes, it seems like it must be. I won’t deny, I’ve declined the position myself because of it. Imagine the sort of catastrophe that might befall the school if a werewolf’s transformation were to go poorly.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t risk it, even with the Wolfsbane Potion.”

Sirius stared. “Dumbledore wanted you to be a teacher?

Remus waved his hand. “As I said, he’s becoming desperate. He revealed there was a mishap with the latest teacher who nearly murdered a student.”

“Really? I never got in that much trouble. What’d the unlucky bugger do?”

“Well, the student uncovered a plot to create an Elixir of Life in order to bring back the physical form of Lord Voldemort. The professor in question acted as host to Voldemort. It seems they shared a body for much of the year without the rest of the staff noticing. In the end, the student foiled the plot and was forced to destroy the professor for the sake of his own life. You can imagine why I did not take the position this year.”

Sirius blinked. “Yeah, I guess.”

The list of ridiculous books taunted him, and he shoved it aside to attend to the oven.

After Sirius had served both of them, Remus remarked that the following day might be a good time to visit Diagon Alley if they liked. Sirius brightened at that and enthusiastically agreed. Anything to escape the isolation of the cottage.

“We should see if I can get into the Black family vault,” he said, offhand.

Remus paused his fork. “You don’t think that might be unwise?”

“Why? It’s mine, isn’t it? The other me certainly hasn’t got access. Might as well claim it, otherwise it’ll just sit there until he dies, won’t it?”

“But it doesn’t really belong to you, Sirius. It belongs to him.”

“ _I’m_ him,” he said, waving his fork as a carrot flew off. “The goblins don’t care, do they? I’ll explain where I’m from and who I am, and I’d wager the whole vault they won’t give a damn if I take it all.”

The following day, Remus Apparated them both to the very front of Gringotts, the street blanketed by the building’s massive shadow. Behind them, shoppers of Diagon Alley chatted loudly and the hoots and cries of owls created a familiar cacophony. The colorful assortment of witches and wizards, hustling from shop to shop might have been folks from his own time. The only difference seemed to be a bit of fashion and shops he’d never seen. Entranced by the bustle of Diagon Alley, he nearly lost Remus beyond the doors of Gringotts and had to skip several steps to keep up.

Beyond the bronze doors and entrance hall, Sirius and Remus approached a goblin whose face seemed to be twisted in a permanent sneer.

“I need to make a withdrawal from 711,” Sirius declared.

The goblin blinked. “Do you have a key, sir?”

“No, but I would like a key to be made. It is my vault, and I am willing to offer proof of my identity and the right to access it. My name is Sirius Black.”

For a long moment, the goblin stared at Sirius. When Sirius was ten, he had accompanied his mother to Diagon Alley and watched as she had said almost precisely the same thing. She had forgotten her key, and demanded access to the Black vault anyway. The goblins had simply requested an inspection on her wand and allowed her to it.

The goblin called for another called Ragnok, and together they whispered, glancing at Sirius suspiciously until they came to an agreement. Ragnok took the other goblin’s place, extending his long fingers outward over the counter.

“Your wand, Mr. Black,” said Ragnok.

Sirius placed his wand in Ragnok’s palm. Ragnok and the other goblin retreated into the office behind the counter, shutting the door behind them. Sirius turned to Remus with a shrug.

“You might try a polite word with them,” said Remus.

“Why? They hate us. It’s not like a ‘please’ or rousing discussion about the weather is going to change that. Best to just let them know our business and get on with it.”

“You sound like they are only here to serve you.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “I never said that.”

The goblins did not take long. When they returned, Ragnok held the wand in his spindly fingers, rolling it between his thumb and index finger as he approached the counter to peer down at Sirius.

“This is indeed Sirius Black’s wand,” said Ragnok. “However, it is widely known that such wand was confiscated a decade ago, and its owner imprisoned in Azkaban. How dare you suggest that you have any right to his vault?”

“I’ve traveled here from 1976,” said Sirius simply.

“Er—Sirius, perhaps we should try a different tactic at another time—”

“No,” snapped Sirius. “It’s my vault and we’re dealing with this now.” He looked Ragnok squarely in the eye. “Are there rules that suggest a person cannot access their vault if they have traveled through time? I have given you proof of my identity and as the heir to the Black family, I should be allowed access.”

Again, the goblins whispered to each other before disappearing again into the door behind them. Their silhouettes were visible behind the smoky glass, discussing intently. Once again, they returned.

Ragnok gave back Sirius’s wand.

“You may have access to Vault 711 as its owner. A key will be presented to you as you depart.” Then the goblin’s eyes grew dark as he leaned forward. “Do not lose it.”

Remus thanked him and they followed another goblin through a set of doors to carts that would take them far beneath the surface of London. They clambered into the cart with Sirius feeling a bit smug. Remus had been a bit nervous, but Sirius had known the goblins wouldn’t stop him.

It had been some time since Sirius set eyes on the mountain of gold within his family’s vault. Even after a few years of wasting within the clammy vaults, it gleamed in the lamplight when the goblin unlocked the door and swung it open. Uncomfortably aware of Remus at his back, he shoveled as many galleons into his bag that the seams would allow with speed enough that a few clanked to the floor outside the vault. He scrambled to pick them up.

Within the vault were pieces of silver that caught the goblin’s eye. The goblin’s lip curled at a number of goblets that Sirius knew to be wrought by goblins many centuries ago.

“I don’t care about those,” Sirius said to the goblin. “Take them back if you like. I’ve got enough gold to keep my great-grandchildren rich.”

The goblin shut the vault door and stomped back to the cart without a word. Awkwardly, Sirius hefted the bag over the side of the cart and held it tightly in his lap. Remus sat beside him, hardly looking at Sirius who felt rather foolish and greedy.

“Most of this is yours, you know,” said Sirius.

“I don’t want it.”

“Whether you want it or not, Moony, it’s yours. It’s not like you have to spend it all in one place. That would be ridiculous.”

Following Gringotts, Sirius and Remus visited at a number of shops along Diagon Alley. While Hogwarts had mysteriously provided Sirius with just enough clothing to wear and pajamas to sleep in, he had yet to replenish his wardrobe since he arrived. They stopped in Madam Malkin’s for school robes, which Sirius would have done in his own time anyway, for he’d grown a few inches over the last year. Madam Malkin froze when she saw him, as if trying to place where she’d seen him before, but shook her head and measured him anyway.

He slipped Madam Malkin a galleon and whispered to her to fit his companion for new robes too. Whatever hesitation she’d had about him fell away as she led Remus from his seat in the window, shooing his protests as she dragged him to the platform where she began measuring. Over his shoulder, Remus glared at Sirius.

Before long, she was shoving robes into Remus’s arms and demanding he put them on. Unable to resist her commands, he disappeared into the dressing room.

“Nothing too dazzling,” she assured Remus through the curtain. “But fresh, new robes never hurt anyone, dear! I’ve chosen a rather practical set for you.”

It wasn’t quite fair, Sirius mused, that Remus should feel compelled to refuse any sort of help. An amalgam of pride and shame had shaped him into a person that bore guilt as a response to gifts rather than gratefulness, as if acceptance would make him some sort of freeloader. In Sirius’s time, the only person who was allowed to support Remus with any sort of money was James, and even that was a rarity.

So it wasn’t until Remus excused himself from the shop that Sirius paid for his own robes and then paid for a stack of robes that Madam Malkin had selected for Remus, directing her to have them sent to the cottage in Yorkshire.

They were on to Flourish and Blotts next. Silent tension between them made Sirius afraid to talk as they scoured the shelves for the books on his list. Remus’s jaw was tight while he pulled out several of Gilderoy Lockhart books and piled them into Sirius’s arms. He wasn’t gentle or thoughtful of the load, and Sirius stooped with the weight.

“What?” Sirius finally said with an eyeroll.

“You don’t suppose that might have been humiliating for me, do you?” His voice was clipped, though he avoided eye contact.

“Why? You needed new robes.”

“You might have warned me first.” Remus drew his wand and lightened the books enough for Sirius to stand up straight. “And must I remind you? I am an adult and perfectly capable of looking after myself. I do not need a sixteen-year-old’s pity.”

Sirius bristled. “You think I did that out of pity? Come on, Moony, I’ve never pitied you once. I saw a problem, and I found a solution. Your robes are old so I got you new ones. I don’t see what the trouble is.”

Remus opened his mouth to retort but halted when a young girl, no more than eleven, wedged herself between them to gather each one of Gilderoy Lockhart’s books. Sirius moved on to a table where he spotted _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6._ Soon after, he dropped all of his purchases at the counter, paid, and directed the books to be sent to Remus’s house.

“Next time,” said Remus, when they moved from the counter, “ _ask first_.”

They were leaving Flourish and Blotts as an employee dragged a sign outside advertising a signing with the star of Sirius’s booklist.

“Dodged a nasty hex, didn’t we?” said Sirius, eyeing Lockhart’s name. “Wouldn’t want to meet him. What an idiot. _Wanderings with Werewolves_ ,” he sneered.

“He’s one of the most famous wizards in the country,” said Remus. “You’re sure you don’t want to wait until it starts? We could get you an autograph.”

“He can sign my arse. Let’s go to Quality Quidditch next.”

The rest of the mid-morning passed in a blur of shops and crowds of people. Sirius marveled over the newest Nimbus 2001, jingling the coins in his bag. He dearly wanted one and he had enough money for it, but he couldn’t drop more money in front of the ever-practical Remus on something totally impractical. So, wistfully, he moved on to purchase a new cauldron, brass scales, set of quills, and a few wet-start fireworks from Gambol and Japes. By the time he had finished, his money pouch was considerably lighter.

They were passing a dark alleyway when Sirius slowed, knowing exactly where that passage led. Remus followed his gaze.

“I know our relationship isn’t the typical ward and guardian, Sirius, but I’m still not going to let you go to Knockturn Alley.”

“I wouldn’t usually feel the need, but I know there are a few interesting things at Borgin and Burkes… Maybe they’d sell me something to bring me back to 1976.”

“Oh, they would certainly sell you something,” said Remus dryly. “But a device to send you back? I doubt it.”

“Come on, Moony, if our places were switched, I’d take you to Knockturn Alley.”

“I believe you. However, as the person here who is most capable of making sound decisions, I must refuse. I guarantee, there is nothing there for you at Borgin and Burkes.”

The itch to see if a time traveling device had somehow ended up in the greedy hands of those proprietors was crawling up Sirius’s spine, and even though Remus had walked away, he couldn’t move. What if the answer was just down that dark passage? What if the galleons in his bag were enough to send him back to his own time, to James? There would be no reason for him to call himself Lysander Prewett. There would be no betrayal of James, no Azkaban for him, and no misery for Remus. Maybe this world was doomed, but it wasn’t too late for his own.

“Sirius!” Remus hissed at his back.

“I’ll be back in a bit! Don’t worry about me!”

He was off, shoes clomping on the cobblestone. Filthy puddles squelched under his shoes and the stench of old potions made his nose wrinkle. Remus was hot on his heels as he picked up his pace, practically running to the mouth of the alley. When it came to an end, he was standing amongst a cluster of rather forlorn buildings, all of them buckling at their foundations.

“Are you mad?” said Remus. “What if someone sees you?”

“So?”

“Sirius Black in Knockturn Alley? Can you at least recognize what that name means here?”

Sirius started up the street, clenching his fists. “I’m not a Death Eater.”

They didn’t make it far. Ahead he saw Borgin and Burkes, but before he could reach it, he noticed Remus was no longer behind him. He whirled searching, until he noticed a hag haranguing a young boy. In an instant, Remus had yanked the boy from her.

“Get away from him,” said Remus. The gravity in his voice made Sirius shiver.

The hag jeered, but she cast her gaze between Remus and the boy as if debating her chance of taking them both. With a hiss and a growled curse, she slinked off.

Sirius glanced wistfully back at Borgin and Burkes knowing there was no way he’d be able to sneak in now. He would make it back eventually.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” said Remus, gripping the boy’s arm in alarm.

Sirius jolted to a stop.

At first glance, he thought he’d seen James. The boy had the same wild black hair, the same shape of his face, the same sort of scrawniness James had when he first started Hogwarts. Sirius stared in disbelief.

“I—er—the Floo. It brought me here,” said Harry, looking from Remus to Sirius. “I’m supposed to be in Diagon Alley. How do you know who I am?”

“Lucky guess,” said Sirius. His eyes flickered to the lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy’s head.

“Come on, Harry, this is no place for you,” said Remus. “Let’s get you back to where you should be. Diagon Alley’s just through here—”

“Harry!” a booming voice ricocheted off the buildings.

Sirius turned in time to scramble out of the way for Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. Hagrid took in the sight of Sirius and Remus, whose hand was firmly on Harry’s arm. Suspiciously, he narrowed his eyes.

“What are the three of yeh doin’?” He plucked Remus’s hand off of Harry. “None of yeh should be here! Remus, bit shocked ter see you, ‘specially. An’ Harry, don’ yeh know what’d people think if they saw yeh here?”

“I didn’t mean to, Hagrid,” Harry started. “I got lost.”

“Righ’, righ’,” said Hagrid. Pointedly, he tried not to look at Sirius. He gestured toward the alley where Sirius and Remus had just arrived. “Come on, all o’ yeh. Knockturn’s closed. Back to Diagon Alley with yeh.”

Sirius found himself herded with Remus and the boy back into the alleyway. Harry was trying to explain himself, how he’d said his destination improperly in the Floo and ended up in the fireplace at Borgin and Burkes.

“Odd,” said Remus. “At least it didn’t take you far.”

“Did you see anything good?” said Sirius.

“There’s nothin’ good in there, Harry,” Hagrid growled. “Don’ know what sort of business you two had in Knockturn Alley, but yeh’d best not be exposin’ Harry ter it.”

“Certainly not,” Remus said. “Lysander merely thought he might find a solution to his problem, which you know of, but it was misguided.”

Hagrid shook his head. “Nothing’s goin’ ter help yeh there, Siri—er—Lysander.”

“Right, so Remus said.”

They reached Diagon Alley once more where the streets were littered with people and the shops were cheerful and bright. None of the passersby seemed to notice the strange group of four that emerged from the alleyway, which seemed particularly strange since Hagrid was the largest man Sirius had ever met.

That was until a breathless, redhaired man rushed from the throng of people to meet Harry, close behind him a clan of redheaded children, enthusiastic that they’d been terribly worried. Harry insisted that he was all right, that he’d ended up in the wrong fireplace in Knockturn Alley, which did not seem to calm the man.

“Molly’s beside herself. Thank goodness you found him, Hagrid. Don’t know what we would have done if…”

“Not ter worry, Arthur. Harry’s perfectly fine. Remus is the one who found ‘im, really.”

The redhaired wizard pumped Remus’s hand, thanking him. Sirius could only guess that this was a Weasley, for they were famous for their bright red hair. Mr. Weasley didn’t recognize Sirius, thankfully. Before the Weasleys could draw Harry away, the boy who looked so much like James couldn’t help himself from staring at Sirius, as if trying to place him like Madam Malkin had done.

“See you at Hogwarts, Harry,” said Sirius.

Once Harry had been carried off by the Weasley clan into the crowds of Diagon Alley, Hagrid rounded on Remus and Sirius.

“The likes of yeh! In Knockturn Alley!” he said, struggling to keep his exceptionally loud voice low. “If yeh don’ want people ter see you as a dark wizard, Sirius, yeh shouldn’ be hangin’ about where dark wizards go!”

“I just thought there might be an object or artifact that could take me back,” explained Sirius. “Borgin and Burkes is full of weird stuff.”

“And _you_ , lettin’ him!” Hagrid said to Remus.

“I forbid him to go, but you know how he gets when he wants to do something. How many times did you drag him and James from places they shouldn’t have been?”

“Righ’, well, that’s a bit true,” agreed Hagrid. Gravely, he looked down at Sirius. “I know yer supposed to start at Hogwarts again this year, but yeh can’ go draggin’ Harry into trouble with yeh. He’s different from James. He’s already had enough excitement to last ‘im the rest of his days, I’d reckon.”

“But Hagrid, Harry was already—”

“I _know_ , but it’s worth sayin’.”

Sirius gritted his teeth but drew a breath. “I’ll leave him alone.”

Then Hagrid’s face softened as he looked between them. “Well, that’s all I can ask.” He bid them farewell, and Sirius knew it wouldn’t be the last of people expecting the worst of him. Sirius made a face at Remus.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

\--

“That was the first time you’ve seen him,” Sirius said.

They were sorting through the mountain of purchases from Diagon Alley, separating school things from the things he had bought to feel a bit more like a person again. It was strange how being estranged from all of one’s personal belongings could make someone feel so lost.

Remus was stacking books over the coffee table, lining them in neat rows by class. For Defense Against the Dark Arts, there were seven books in total. Remus had already expressed his concern about the effectiveness of a N.E.W.T. level course that relied on Gilderoy Lockhart’s dodgy accounts of dealing with magical creatures.

The comment made Remus pause.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Remus, absently lifting the cover of _Advanced Potion Making_. “It wasn’t my choice. Dumbledore insisted that Harry should grow up independent of the wizarding world. I can’t say it hasn’t been difficult knowing where he’s been and keeping my promise to Dumbledore, but in the end, it’s all for Harry’s safety.”

“So James’s kid has been out in the world this whole time, and you’ve never met him,” Sirius said. He peered into the eye of his new telescope and played with the focus. The living room was a blur through the lens. “Do you think he knows about us?”

“I suspect not. From how I understand, his guardians are not the most enthusiastic supporters of magic.”

“Who’re his guardians?”

“Lily’s sister and her husband. I’ve never met them. The other you met them, however,” said Remus. _“Once,_ ” he added. “I do not believe it ended well.”

Sirius removed his face from the telescope. “Then why is Harry there? Seems like there’d be a number of wizarding families that would’ve loved to take him in.”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Remus admitted. “When I was… When I learned of where he’d been sent, I asked Dumbledore the very same questions, but it was explained to me it had to with a blood protection, that Lily had sacrificed herself for Harry. The bond extends to her Muggle sister, who shares that same blood.”

Lily Evans had never quite liked Sirius in the time he had known her. Loathed him, more like, he thought. Imagining Lily shielding James’s child from Voldemort, fighting for his life with her final breath, seemed so strange.

Sirius frowned. “But that makes it sound like Harry’s still in danger. Voldemort’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Dumbledore seems to think that may only be temporary,” said Remus, a bit pale. His finger slid down the booklist of Sirius’s Hogwarts letter, double-checking that they’d gotten everything. “And Voldemort isn’t the only threat to Harry out there. To this day, a number of Death Eaters walk free, many of them claiming to have been acting under the Imperius Curse. Any one of them might still have a taste for revenge.”

But Harry seemed so ordinary, so unthreatening that Sirius nearly laughed at the idea of anyone exacting revenge upon him. Other than closely he resembled Prongs, nothing struck Sirius as peculiar about the boy except for the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

“Did you know he looked so much like James?”

Remus shook his head. “No,” he said softly.

At first Sirius had been a bit sullen with Remus for not reaching out to Harry. After all, he had eleven years to do it, to tell the boy all about his father and what he was like. How could Harry not know who James was at all? But clearly, it had not been easy on Remus. How often had Remus considered breaking his promise to Dumbledore and seeing Harry? How often had he wrestled with himself, trying to remind himself that Harry’s safety was more important than nostalgia?

Soon, Sirius would be living in the same tower as Harry and would be forced to see the son of his best friend every day, a reminder of James and what had been lost. As much as he wanted to get to know Harry, it wasn’t the same. James was gone.

_James is gone, he’s dead, it’s your fault._

He squeezed his eyes shut, shoving the voice from his head. It spiraled through the darkness of his mind, ricocheting off his skull to reverberate between his ears. _Traitor. Murderer. You killed him. It’s your fault. You’re the reason Remus has never met Harry. You destroyed everything, killed an entire family. You betrayed the ones who loved you the most._

Pressure on his arm coaxed him back from the recesses of his mind, and the quaint sitting room swam back to him. Remus had taken hold and was prompting him quietly to come back. Bleary-eyed, Sirius tried to focus on his friend’s face, tracing the lines of age all the way up to Remus’s eyes.

“I miss James,” Sirius whispered.

“I do too,” Remus said softly. “Perhaps we could miss him together.”

Outside the cottage, clouds rolled in and pattered rain over the landscape, plinking at the window as Remus regaled Sirius with what he remembered of their time at school—full moons, finishing the Marauders Map, Lily finally agreeing to go out with James, accepting the invitation to join the Order of the Phoenix, the dark times as they found themselves separated for months at a time and scrambling to keep their friendship strong.

When Remus was through, it was dark. Sirius excused himself and went to the tiny room upstairs to sleep, but the wind kept rattling the window and splattering it with rain, keeping him awake until the storm broke at dawn.


	3. A Different Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks again for reading and leaving your lovely comments and adding to your follow lists. I’ve been having a ton of fun writing, and I’m happy to share that joy with you guys. Heads up, this chapter is heavy with OCs, so if you aren’t into that sort of thing, you’ve been forewarned.

Remus apparated them to Kings Cross on the first of September.

Despite Remus trying to cheer him up, there was nothing that could bring Sirius out of his sullen silence on those last few days in the cottage. He dragged himself from room to room, brooding as August came to a close.

He recognized no one on the platform after he and Remus casually leaned into the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 and passed through to Platform 93/4. There was a sea of students and parents bidding their goodbyes and students greeting each other excitedly after a summer apart.

Dread filled him as he beheld the vibrantly red Hogwarts Express. Soon he would no longer have Remus. He’d be on his own; no friends, no familiar faces. For the first time in his life, he really did not want to go back to school.

“It won’t be so bad,” Remus promised weakly. “Write as often as you’d like.”

Sirius grunted in response.

“Just finish these last two years,” urged Remus. “You won’t regret it.”

“Bye, Moony.”

Remus held Sirius’s shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, Padfoot.”

Sirius nodded curtly and wrenched away, unwilling to let the dread keep him tethered to Remus, the only thing in this new world he knew. Sparing himself one last look, Sirius boarded the train.

His stomach lurched as stared down the length of the train car. Students were sliding open compartment doors, laughing and meeting their friends; the smallest students found whatever seats they could without being told off by older ones. Uncertain, he tried a compartment door, but found a trio of people already there—two of them were hulking, oafish students and the last was a boy with blond hair and a haughty sort of look who raised his brows at Sirius.

“Who are you?”

Sirius scoffed. “Someone far too old to be sitting with the likes of you.” He shut the door and started up the train, peering into compartments. Most were full already, and he realized as he traipsed through the train cars, he was attracting whispers. _Who was that?_ He heard. _Is that a new student?_ Yet none of them were invitations to sit with them.

Irritated, he settled on a compartment that held only a girl with bushy brown hair. He dropped into the seat closest to the window and pointedly ignored her, which was difficult because her knee kept bobbing nervously. She was peering out the window, clearly watching for someone, biting her lip so hard that it was white under her large front teeth.

“I was saving those seats, you know,” she mumbled, still searching the platform.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Well, train’s about to leave. If they’re not here now, I’d wager they found somewhere else to sit.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. She paused, tilting her head as she looked at him. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you a new student? I’ve never heard of someone starting Hogwarts so late. You’re far older than a first year.”

“I was at Ilvermorny and then Beauxbatons,” he said, remembering what he, Remus, and Dumbledore had agreed upon. “My parents have moved around the world quite a lot,” he explained when she cast a bemused look at him. “I wanted to finish school at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you could do that,” she said, wide-eyed. “How fascinating! You must know so much about the international wizarding community! I’m a Muggle-born myself, but I’ve tried to learn as much as I can since I found out I was a witch. Do you speak French? Well, of course you must. I took quite a bit of French before I came to Hogwarts, so I’m a little rusty, but if you ever need someone to practice, I’m always happy to brush up. I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. This is my second year. I’m in Gryffindor. Do you know which House you’ll be in? Are you going to be Sorted with the first years?”

“Lysander Prewett, and I’ve been Sorted already. Gryffindor as well,” said Sirius. Dumbledore assured him he would not have to sit before the entire school as a sixteen-year-old and be Sorted again.

“Oh good!” said Hermione. “Ron and Harry are in Gryffindor too. That’s who I’m waiting for. I saw the rest of the Weasleys come through the barrier, but I didn’t see the two of them. I’m sure they’re on the train, though. Otherwise, how would they get to Hogwarts?”

But the train pulled away from the station, and soon, London was speeding by brick by brick, and still Hermione’s friends did not appear. Sirius could only imagine that the Harry she spoke of was the one he knew, and a bit of worry knotted in his stomach. _He must be on the train somewhere,_ he thought.

Hermione chewed her nail as they left London behind. She kept jumping at any sound outside, as if her friends were about to enter. When it was a quarter to the hour, and Sirius didn’t think her knee could bounce any faster, she stood abruptly.

“I’m going to look for them,” she announced.

“Good luck.”

And then she was gone.

Sirius stretched out his legs, marveling at his own luck of finding a compartment almost completely to himself. He watched the countryside roll by, the familiar journey taking him back to 1976. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine James, Remus, and Peter with him. He could pretend they were all laughing, planning their next adventure and tinkering with the Map.

But the door wasn’t closed for long. Sirius opened his eyes to find the trio of second year students he’d seen earlier. The boy, clearly the ringleader, narrowed his eyes.

“I thought Granger was in here,” the boy said.

Sirius waved him off. “Well, she’s not. Run along.”

But the boy was frozen as he looked Sirius up and down, sneering as he did. Sirius resisted the urge to check himself for he knew what he looked like—his robes were of the everyday variety, well-fitted and new, and frankly, they rather matched this boy’s.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the boy said, a bit incredulous.

It was Sirius’s turn to rake in the boy’s appearance. Truthfully, it wasn’t difficult to guess. In his experience, dark hair was much more common in pureblood families than red or blond, which made the Weasley family so distinctive. Sirius could think only of one family in particular known for their fairness and pomposity, and only because he knew that they had just been married. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, his cousin, were wed in a highly publicized event, to which Sirius was not invited.

But he pretended to look puzzled. “No, I don’t.”

“Draco Malfoy,” the boy said, offering his hand. Inwardly, Sirius chortled but didn’t take it. Clearly the boy saw he was no Muggleborn or half-blood, and debated whether or not if it was worth making an ally out of Sirius. “You’ve likely heard of my family.”

“Haven’t, sorry.”

A bit of red crept into the boy’s pale cheeks, though whatever bit of pride that had just been squashed was hidden by a tilt of his chin. He clenched his open hand and brought it back to his side.

“You would fare better if you didn’t make me an enemy,” Malfoy warned, his hand reaching in to his pocket. Behind him, the hulking boys were rolling up their sleeves, smiling menacingly.

Sirius shot to his feet, drawing his wand in a flash. Malfoy stared down the end of it, his eyes wide with surprise. “You dare threaten me? I don’t care who you are, _Draco_ , or who your family is. If you’ve come here looking for a fight, you’ll get one. Is that what you want?”

Malfoy knew Sirius was not joking and stepped back. His hand twitched in his pocket, clearly debating if he could take on a sixth year. Then he jerked his head at his companions to leave.

Sirius seized the collar of his robe and yanked the boy close. Malfoy yelped, trying to scramble away.

“Leave Granger alone,” Sirius hissed, “or you’ll answer to me. Now go back to your compartment and stay there.”

Malfoy didn’t need telling twice. He and his cronies squeezed out of the compartment as Sirius slid into his seat, chuckling. He wished Malfoy would have tried to curse him or refuse to leave—he would’ve loved to unleash his wide variety of hexes and jinxes on him, many of which he and James had invented and perfected.

At least that was familiar. Malfoy was an example of pureblood mania, the sort of ideology Sirius had finally escaped when he ran away to the Potters’ house. Narcissa would have delighted in bringing the boy up with the virtues bestowed upon her as a child, and from what he knew about Lucius Malfoy, the boy had considerable power and fortune at his disposal. It made the Draco insufferable, but Sirius was used to it.

Sometimes he wondered how Peter and Remus tolerated him and James, both of them raised within haughty, pureblood lines. Maybe James had come from a family that spoke out against blood politics, but there was no denying James had grown up in a world where his privilege had few boundaries. It leaked into the way James saw the rest of the world, how he couldn’t understand the word _No,_ and couldn’t fathom the injustice of Remus’s condition. Sirius, however, had been a product of the worst kind of wizards—the sort that bred for purity. No matter how he tried to distinguish himself from his family, somehow, a nasty streak of superiority bled out. Now that Sirius saw what he would become, he felt ill to think that it would later consume him.

When Hermione returned, she was on the verge of tears as she dropped into the seat.

“They’re not on the train!” she said. “I checked every compartment. No one saw them on the platform. What if something’s happened to them?”

“Well, that can’t be,” said Sirius. “They’ve got to be somewhere.”

“They aren’t. Fred and George, they’re Ron’s brothers, say they don’t remember seeing them come through the barrier. I told Percy, and he’s sent an owl ahead to Hogwarts, but what if it’s too late?”

That was strange, he thought. He couldn’t remember a student ever missing the train. Once, Peter and his mother had raced to catch it and they hauled Peter onto the moving train just before it picked up speed. There had to be other times in the last century and a half when a student might have overslept or been caught in Muggle traffic before boarding.

“If they missed the train, it’s all right, Hermione,” he assured her. “Dumbledore’s not going to expel them for that. They might’ve been caught by one of the security folks on the Muggle side, right? They can’t be the first.”

Hermione sniffed and wiped her eyes. “It’s just, since last year, I’m worried anything could happen to them. Oh, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

“Er—no.”

“The whole school knows about this already, so you might as well too. Last year, we found out that one of the teachers was planning on stealing the Philosopher’s Stone,” she said. “You see, Professor Dumbledore is close friends with Nicholas Flamel who invented it and he was safeguarding the stone at Hogwarts. Well, we were quite convinced that our Potions professor was after it, and we thought to stop him before he could get it. The teachers all designed obstacles to stop intruders—Devil’s Snare, a giant chessboard, a troll—and we got through them (actually, Harry got through them all). When Harry got through the last of the obstacles, he found that it was actually our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who sought the stone. The worst of it was, however, was that Quirrell was acting like a host to—to _You-Know-Who._ ”

Sirius, who’d already heard this story from Remus, feigned a horrified expression. Hermione, satisfied with his response, nodded.

“Quite luckily, Harry managed to get away, but the stone was ultimately destroyed. You can see why I might be…worried about them.”

“Whatever happened with the Potions professor? Was he involved?”

“Oh,” she said, “No. We were rather wrong about him, though I would protest that it’s not hard to suspect Professor Snape when he’s always lurking about—”

“ _Snape?_ ”

“He teaches Potions, though there are rumors that he’d prefer Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Sirius gaped. It couldn’t be. There must have been some other Snape in the wizarding world that he had never known.

“Snape?” he repeated. “ _Severus Snape?”_

“Yes,” Hermione said, face crumpling in confusion. “Do you know him?”

“I wish I didn’t,” said Sirius darkly.

He couldn’t believe it. There was no way he was going back to Hogwarts to suffer Severus Snape as his teacher. Why hadn’t Dumbledore warned him? If Sirius found out Remus knew, he was going to make his life hell. Would Snape even allow him in his class? A new dread filled him. Sirius had gotten an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L. but Snape wasn’t worth the N.E.W.T…

Maybe he could drop Potions but still take the N.E.W.T. in the next year. If Slughorn was still alive, he could have Slughorn show him how to do everything on the exam and never have to deal with Snape at all.

Hermione pulled out a book to calm her nerves, and Sirius closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself from the new horror he was about to face. He bought a few sweets when the trolley lady came through, and he shared a bit with Hermione, anything to get the girl to settle down. She nibbled on a Chocolate Frog, worriedly looking out the window as if to see her friends there.

As the train pressed on, he couldn’t stop thinking about Severus Snape, the persistent plague on Hogwarts. A dark part of him wished Snape had really made it to the end of the tunnel. What if James hadn’t stopped him? What if the werewolf would have taken care of Snape once and for all?

His heart nearly stopped. Was that it? Was that how his road to becoming a Death Eater began? Wishing he had killed another student? Even if it was someone who probably deserved it? He tried to shove the thought aside, but the silence in the compartment only made louder the voice in his head that screamed _murderer!_

“I’m bored,” said Sirius, suddenly. _Murderer, traitor._ “Fancy a game?”

“I don’t have anything like wizard’s chess or Gobstones,” Hermione said. “But I’ve got a pack of Muggle playing cards. Do you know any of those games?”

“No, show me.”

Hermione taught him how to play one called Old Maid, which she claimed was a bit more entertaining with a larger group of players, but it was simple enough to explain, and Sirius got the hang of it quickly. They played several rounds until they grew bored and she taught him another called Battle, which was much simpler, and by the end neither of them were paying much attention.

The sky was darkening as they drew closer to Hogsmeade Station. Courteously, Sirius waited outside the compartment to allow Hermione to change into her robes, and she did the same as he changed into his. By the time he’d finished, her teeth had gone through her lip and split it. Soon the train slowed and the lights of Hogsmeade blazed through the darkness.

In 1976, he never would have imagined himself leading a twelve-year-old off the train to the horseless carriages that took them up to the castle instead of squeezing into one with his friends. Hagrid would have told them off, that four was too many to a carriage. Naturally, James and Sirius would find their own and meet Remus and Peter later.

Hermione’s company was much less interesting now that she was beside herself with worry. He’d given up trying to assure her that Harry and Ron would be all right, and simply stared glumly out the window. Usually he was suppressing a grin at the sight of glowing lights through the castle’s hundreds of windows, elated to be away from his family and back where he had made his own life, but tonight, he couldn’t help feeling miserable.

By the time they climbed the steps up to the castle with the rest of students streaming over the grounds, Hermione said she was going to find a teacher and tell them what had happened. Sirius proceeded with the rest of the students.

The Great Hall glowed with firelight, illuminated with hundreds of candles floating in midair beneath the enchanted ceiling. Sirius drifted toward the Gryffindor table with its shining goldens platters and cutlery, unchanged by the last sixteen years. He chose a lone seat near the middle of the table. He felt jealous again as he watched the others find their seats, laughing amongst each other with familiar fondness. There was no sign of Hermione, and to his relief, no sign of Snape at the head table either.

Then he felt movement on either side of him. There were two girls. One was covered in freckles and still smelled like a beach holiday, her dark blond hair parted deeply over the side so it draped over her shoulder. The other was a pretty girl with black hair and a dazzlingly white smile.

“Hello, new student,” said the first, extending her hand. Her grip was firm as she flashed a grin. “We heard about you on the train. I’m Claudia Hotchkiss. This is Annabelle Waddington. We thought you might like company. We’re sixth years too.”

“Lysander Prewett,” said Sirius. He shook with Annabelle whose soft hand held his for a beat longer than he might have expected. There was a twinkle in her eye.

“Ooh, I like that,” said Annabelle. “ _Lysander._ Sounds like a Greek hero, doesn’t it?”

“Right,” Claudia murmured, her eyes sweeping up and down Sirius in a way that was very different from the way Draco Malfoy had done. “Where are you from? No one starts Hogwarts this late.”

“I was at Beauxbatons,” Sirius said. Her leg pressed against his. “Er—before then, Ilvermorny.”

Annabelle smirked. “Did you like Beauxbatons?”

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

“My French is bad,” he answered. It was true. No matter how many lessons he had over the years, he never got the hang of it. His accent was horrid and he could never find the right words when he needed them.

“Were you expelled or something?” asked Annabelle.

“No, but almost. I wasn’t very popular amongst the teachers.”

“Why?”

Sirius smiled. “I’m not fond of taking orders, and there’s not a lot of tolerance for that sort of thing at Beauxbatons.”

The staff were taking their seats, drawing Claudia’s attention.

“Oh, look! There’s Lockhart!” she said, grinning. “Crazy about him, eh? Never thought I’d have a famous wizard for a teacher. Well, except Dumbledore, of course.”

Sirius whipped his head around to see Gilderoy Lockhart, a face he knew well from the covers of his required books, billowing into the hall with aquamarine robes and regaling an unamused staff with his excitement over the upcoming year. The corners of Sirius’s lips drew down sharply.

“ _He’s_ going to be our teacher?” he said. “Does Dumbledore want us to learn anything?”

There went Defense Against the Darks Arts along with Potions. Perhaps he shouldn’t expect to take any N.E.W.T. level courses at all…

Annabelle followed his grimace. “Yeah, rotten luck it couldn’t have been a year that didn’t matter. At least he’s nice to look at, but won’t matter when he’s teaching us nonverbals, though. Did you know? I’ve heard they make us do nonverbals in every class now. I hate to say it, but thank God for Potions.”

“We should give Lockhart a chance,” said Claudia, watching Professor Lockhart finally find his seat next to Professor Flitwick, who seemed to edge away from him. “He’s had quite a lot of experience! Look everything he’s done. I mean, if he turned that werewolf back into a man—I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before.”

“Because it’s impossible,” said Sirius. “Lockhart would’ve been dead before he drew his wand.”

Annabelle nodded her agreement. “Claudia knows it’s all rubbish. She fancies him, is all. Anyway, which N.E.W.T.’s are you taking?”

Sirius listed off Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Herbology.

“Me too,” said Annabelle, lips curling into a self-assured smile. “You can partner with me in Potions since Claudia only managed Exceeds Expectations on her Potions O.W.L. Snape won’t take anyone with less than Outstanding. Prick. You won’t like him. He hates anyone who isn’t in Slytherin.”

“Sounds like a berk,” Sirius muttered. Maybe he should drop Potions and take Care of Magical Creatures instead. There was no way he and Snape would both leave the dungeons alive. It churned in his mind, the nightmare of Severus Snape exacting his revenge. He suppressed a shiver.

“Lucky us, I don’t see him at the head table,” said Claudia. “Maybe he’s finally left.”

“Sorting’s about to start,” Annabelle said.

The Sorting of the first year students dragged as Sirius rested his cheek on a fist and tried not to drift off. Perhaps Annabelle and Claudia were perplexed that a new student wouldn’t find the Sorting fascinating, but they didn’t mention it. They watched as student after student trudged up to the three-legged stool, nervously sat before the whole school, and waited for Professor McGonagall to place the ragged wizard’s hat on their head. Claudia and Annabelle made a game of it, guessing which House the Sorting Hat would pick. Tired of being wrong, Claudia merely guessed Hufflepuff for each one. When Sirius wearied of listening, he shut his eyes until the draw of sleep made his eyes slide shut. Annabelle snorted and nudged him awake, whispering that he shouldn’t break his nose on the table on his first day.

“How were you Sorted?” she said. The hiss of her breath was hot on his ear.

“In Dumbledore’s office,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “He didn’t want to make me do it in front of everyone.”

“That was nice of him.”

They were shushed by a bespectacled redheaded boy who glared at them and mouthed to be quiet. Annabelle and Claudia grinned at the boy and made rude gestures until he turned back, affronted.

“That’s Percy Weasley,” Claudia whispered to Sirius. “He’s in your dormitory, unfortunately.”

“Learn a snoring charm, or he’ll know you’re out of bed after hours,” Annabelle warned.

Speaking of Weasleys, there had been no sign of Ron or Harry since the Sorting began, and Hermione had returned to nervously sit at the very end of the Gryffindor table alone. Worry knotted in his stomach. Where could the boy have gone? How could he and Ron Weasley miss the train if they were right behind the rest of the Weasleys on the platform?

 _As if you have any right to worry about him_ , a voice in his head sneered. The thought paralyzed him until he realized the Sorting was over. Food appeared all along the tables on golden platters. The girls helped themselves ravenously, piling potatoes and roast beef and vegetables onto their plates. Claudia in particular stacked enough food that would have made even Peter ill. She grinned as Sirius stared at her pillar of provisions.

“Bet you don’t think I can eat all this, huh?”

“Can I watch?” said Sirius, eyeing her small frame.

Annabella stuck out her tongue in a disgusted way. “Don’t encourage her. And for all of our sakes, Claudia, please don’t eat all of that. We know you can do it. Just…don’t.”

Sirius was scooping potatoes onto his plate when he noticed the students around him whispering. He glanced at Annabelle whose ear was offered to the student next to her. The boy, no more than fourteen, was telling her about something, his eyes wide and excited. When he was finished, Annabelle swiveled in her seat to lean into Sirius and Claudia.

“Harry Potter and Ron Weasley just arrived at school,” she said, her mischievous smile tightening. “And they _flew_ a car. Can you believe it?”

Claudia, however, looked glum. “Wish I would have thought of something like that! And to think, we took the stupid train. Look at the Weasley twins! Bet they’re thinking the same thing.”

Sure enough, a few seats away, the twin boys with bright red hair were looking exasperated and disappointed, shaking their heads. Sirius himself felt a surge of envy. What a way to arrive! Harry and Ron had, however, left their other best friend behind on the train, which made him wonder if it hadn’t been planned. While Hermione didn’t seem to be the type to condone a fanciful flight to Hogwarts, he couldn’t imagine they would leave her to ride the train if they thought it was unavoidable. He, James, and Peter would never have left Remus behind in the same way.

“As if anyone ought to be surprised. Potter has a knack for finding trouble,” Annabelle told him.

“Really?” said Sirius, imagining the boy from Diagon Alley. Perhaps he was more like James than he thought.

“Well, actually, he’s more of a magnet for trouble,” said Annabelle.

“Stumbles into stuff,” Claudia added, mouth full. “He got on the Quidditch team last year ‘cause he caught a Remembrall mid-air during his first flying lesson, and McGonagall happened to see it and got Oliver to make him Seeker.” She swallowed, the lump visible in her throat as it went down.

Sirius gaped. “Seeker? As a first year?”

“He’s pretty good,” said Annabelle. “You’ll see. Did you know he grew up with Muggles? Wouldn’t know it if you saw him—he’s a natural flier. My dad says it runs in his family.”

Sirius almost opened his mouth to agree, to say that James was one of the best fliers he’d ever seen, but shut it quickly. Then it occurred to him—did he know Annabelle’s father? Down the length of the table sat student after student, and not all of them could be Muggleborns, so how many had parents that went to school with him?

“You must be a pureblood,” said Claudia said suddenly, eyeing him.

Sirius choked, and Claudia slapped his back.

“Not in a bad way!” Claudia insisted. “It’s only…” She glanced at Annabelle for help who shrugged and neatly scooped a cluster of peas onto her fork. “Well, Lysander Prewett isn’t a name you’d get on a Muggleborn, you know?”

“Is Claudia Hotchkiss a Muggleborn name?”

“Not really,” said Claudia. “Dad’s a Muggleborn but Mum comes from a whole line of witches. Annabelle and I are cousins, sort of. Distantly. Very, very distantly. We have the same great-great-grandmother who was also named Claudia. Annabelle’s parents are purebloods—”

“No, my mother is a half-blood,” corrected Annabelle, chasing a pea with the tines of her fork. “My father’s a pureblood, but there’s enough Muggle heritage in there, if you’re going to be nitpicky. But does it really matter anymore? The only people who care are Slytherins, and even then, I think some of them have lost interest. Can we _please_ talk about Oliver Wood’s new haircut instead?”

Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, seemed to have a few admirers in Annabelle and Claudia who discussed very seriously the apparent mistake Wood had made in shearing off most of his hair. Wood was gesticulating wildly at a couple of girls who, as Claudia informed Sirius, were on the Quidditch team; he seemed to be miming throwing a Quaffle and at some point, pretended his hands were broomsticks. His audience was half-listening, eyelids drooping.

Dumbledore stood finally and declared the feast over. After he welcomed in the new and old students, he sent them off to bed. Sirius almost shouted his gratefulness. Claudia looped an arm around his and she tugged him from the table, insisting she show him the way to Gryffindor Tower. Unnecessarily, of course, since the number of students streaming from their table would have been enough to go on, other than the fact that he could have found his way with a blindfold.

Gryffindor Tower was as he, James, Remus, and Peter had left it. The same sofas, the same chairs, the same study tables, the same portraits on the walls. Claudia dragged him to a cluster of armchairs that circled a small table and bade him to sit down. Annabelle lowered herself into the one beside him and Claudia dropped down so hard into the furthest one, he thought he heard something snap in the chair.

To his surprise, the students weren’t retreating to bed like he would’ve preferred. Instead, they were clustered in the common room, and Sirius understood why as he overheard the chatter. They were waiting for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to arrive. As far as anyone knew, they had been expelled. Or perhaps that had not been expelled? How brilliant! No one had arrived in a flying car before!

As students continued to pour into the common room, there were few places to sit or stand with a good view of the portrait hole, so they began to climb onto tables and chairs. With everyone towering above, Sirius felt like he was crouched at the base of a canyon. Excitement ran like an electric current as they waited for the heroes of the hour to arrive. Annabelle was telling Claudia something that Sirius couldn’t hear over the din, yet the way Claudia’s eyes glinted at him in the firelight gave him an idea.

When finally the portrait hole opened again, the common room erupted in earsplitting applause as Harry and Ron were pulled in, trailed by Hermione Granger who was rolling her eyes at the spectacle. The Weasley twins were lamenting, as Claudia predicted, that Harry and Ron hadn’t included them in the car, and the rest of the Gryffindors were thumping them hard on the back, congratulating them on their spectacular arrival.

Harry tried not to smile, and Sirius’s heart thudded. He hadn’t forgotten, but Harry looked so much like James, it was hard to remember that they were father and son and not the same person. He stood with the rest of the crowd, to the confusion of Annabelle and Claudia, and beaming, shoved his way until he was gripping Harry’s shoulder.

“That was quite an entrance, Potter,” he said.

Harry’s smile slipped when he recognized Sirius. “You!”

“Didn’t I say I’d see you at Hogwarts?”

“I guess—” Then Harry glanced beyond Sirius and grew pale. Behind them was Percy Weasley, trying to plow his way through the crowd toward Harry and Ron. Sirius flashed his teeth in a grin and advised him not to let Percy Weasley get a hold of him and Ron. Harry urged Ron that they ought to go to bed, and together they shoved aside students until they reached the spiral staircase and disappeared up into the dormitory.

The excitement melted as the exhaustion of the day caught up with the students, and soon the rest of them were filing off to bed as well. All that remained were a few people who lounged in the quiet common room, finally catching a break to speak in hushed tones to each other. Annabelle had swung her legs over the armchair, dangling her feet and watching the fire when Sirius returned. Nothing but a flattened pillow and a deep impression of Claudia remained on her chair, however.

“Where’s she gone? It’s past curfew,” said Sirius. He dropped into Claudia’s seat. Not that he’d ever cared about curfew, of course—he and his friends went wherever they liked whenever they liked.

Annabelle shrugged. “She’s gone to see her boyfriend. He’s in Ravenclaw. He’s a snob, but she thinks he’s brilliant.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

The eyeroll he received must have given her a headache. “I’m between, thanks. Did you leave a girlfriend behind, wherever you came from? Beauxbatons?”

“No,” he said honestly. He’d never had a girlfriend before. There were girls he’d snogged or taken behind the greenhouses, but dating seemed like a waste of time. He had better things to do than ingratiate himself to some person who wasn’t worth the effort.

“Really?” she said, scouring him with penetrating eyes. “You look like someone who’s had a number of girlfriends or…boyfriends. Why haven’t you?”

“Looking to start something?”

“No,” she snapped. When she noticed his grin, her shoulders relaxed and she waved her hand. “I’m trying to get to know you. Claudia fancies you, of course, but she fancies everyone.”

“But we just met.”

“Yeah,” Annabelle agreed. “D’you like her?”

His lips parted. Did he have interest in a girl he’d known for less than a few hours? Perhaps she was lovely with her cascading, dark blond hair and bronzed skin, but dating was the last thing that occurred to him while starting at a school as a new student despite having attended that school for five years and also awaiting the arrival of his best friend’s son in a flying car. Was this what girls were like when you befriended them?

Annabelle snorted and sat up, bringing her legs around to kick off her boots and then cross her ankles over the ottoman.

“I told her you didn’t,” said Annabelle. When Sirius began to retort, she held up a hand. “It won’t hurt her feelings. She’s tougher than that. But do you? Just so we’re clear.”

“I—it’s a bit early to tell? And she has a boyfriend.”

“Well, she keeps her options open. I also think she’d like to see a couple of boys fight over her.”

The conversation didn’t last much longer. Annabelle merely suggested that if he liked Claudia, he wouldn’t regret meeting her on the Astronomy Tower. Then Annabelle took her shoes and walked stocking-feet up to the girl’s dormitory, wishing him over her shoulder a pleasant first sleep at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

\--

Dread sat like a brick in his stomach as he followed Annabelle into the dungeons. The Potions classroom was as he remembered with the same acrid smell of something burning tickling his nose. They found a table off to the side.

He’d gone in knowing what would happen. A single word from him would have Snape cursing him to the back of the room and giving him a month’s worth of detentions, but Sirius would not allow that sort of abuse from his greatest foe. His plan was simply to bite the inside of his cheek. Snape would expect him to be insubordinate and fight him at every turn. If he could just keep his mouth shut, Snape would look like the idiot.

In the eyes of the other students, Snape had no reason to dislike him more than the average Gryffindor. Unjust behavior would raise eyebrows, and Sirius knew Dumbledore had strictly forbidden the professors from treating him differently from the others.

All of that, however, slipped out of his mind as a billowing blackness entered the classroom, and the quiet conversation hushed immediately. Severus Snape, his hair just as greasy, his face just as sallow as it was when he was sixteen, faced the class. Black eyes glittered in the lamplight, searching through the sea of sixth year faces. This class was mixed with all four Houses—the only students who managed to receive O’s on their Potions O.W.L. Snape’s survey did not take long before he found Sirius.

Sirius felt the same sneer that pulled back Snape’s lips on his own face as they locked eyes. Any promises he’d made to himself seemed stupid now. It was all he could do not to throw his shoe at Snape.

But Snape tore his gaze from Sirius quickly and addressed the class.

“This year, you will begin your N.E.W.T. level coursework,” Snape began. His oily voice made the students shiver. “There are those in this classroom who only just managed to achieve an Outstanding on their O.W.L. exams, perhaps due to a supreme stroke of luck or the negligence of an evaluator. To those students, I do not expect you to last the term. The coursework this year simply will not allow anyone to scrape by. I will not waste time reviewing basics, and you will not waste my time by forgetting them. Each day, I will provide the necessary tools for brewing the potion of my choosing. Any result less than perfect will receive a failing mark. Three failures in a term will result in expulsion from this class.”

Suddenly, a bit of chalk squealed against the board as it wrote as if by its own accord. _Draught of Living Death,_ it read. When the chalk dropped, Snape told them to begin.

Students scrambled in pandemonium to open their books and race for ingredients among the stores. Annabelle told Sirius to begin reading the potion’s instructions while she fetched the supplies. It was a complicated one, that was certain.

They worked for an hour while Snape sat at the front desk, watching them all. Once in a while, Snape would stroll about the room, offering nasty comments and critiquing the way a student stirred or scoffing as he peered into a cauldron. To Sirius’s relief, Snape largely ignored him and Annabelle.

Sweat glistened on Annabelle’s face as she worked, crushing the Sopophorous bean and feeding its juices to the potion. If Sirius excelled at Transfiguration and Charms, Annabelle’s expertise was in potion-making. The cauldron bubbled when it was supposed to, it turned the right colors at the right time, and by the end of the hour, the potion was nearly complete.

“You should be finished stirring by now,” Snape called lazily.

Panic gripped the room and soon, students who hadn’t been stirring were now stuffing ladles into their cauldrons and swirling, but Annabelle removed hers with a smug little smile at Sirius.

“A failing grade, Prewett,” said Snape, as he examined the cauldron.

 _“What?”_ Sirius yelped. “Why?”

“And ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Waddington. You were not supposed to brew it for him. This was not an opportunity to show off, no matter how much you might enjoy it.”

Sirius’s fists clenched. Annabelle had taken the lead, that was clear, though he hadn’t sat around with his finger in his nose either. He had done roughly half of the potion’s work, following Annabelle’s corrections when she noticed him about to do something incorrectly. Injustice swelled in his chest. If Snape didn’t want them to work together, why did he send them off in pairs?

“You—” started Sirius. But then he nearly choked, and the rest of his words were lost.

“Sorry, Professor,” said Annabelle, loudly. “It won’t happen again.”

Snape stared at Sirius, suspicious but unable to put his finger on it. Then he shifted his gaze to Annabelle who managed to feign shame with her downcast eyes. He lingered for a moment more before moving on.

There were no words because someone had silenced Sirius with a nonverbal spell.

It wasn’t until they were leaving the dungeons that he heard Annabelle say quietly, “ _Finite incantatem.”_

Sirius whirled on her. “Why would you do that?”

She shrugged. “You were about to do something stupid, and I thought I’d save you a detention. You saw the way Snape was glaring at you. I’ll bet he was just waiting for reason to give you a month’s worth of detentions. You should be thanking me, Lysander.”

Sirius didn’t.

The first class had gone better than he imagined, but he’d have to comb down the hair on his arms because the shiver from the dungeons hadn’t gone away. How had Snape gotten the job anyway? All he did was stand around the room, barking insults at people. Dumbledore’s judgment had always been dodgy; perhaps he’d had a few too many sherries when he hired Snape. He said as much to Annabelle whose default response seemed to be raising her shoulders and letting them fall.

“He’s brilliant, of course,” she said as they climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. “Sometimes being a twat comes with that.”

“I’m brilliant, and I’m not a twat.”

“Is that why you let me brew that potion all on my own?”

“I helped!” said Sirius indignantly.

Annabelle made for the girl’s dormitory, pausing before she went up. “Well, let’s see how you do next time when Snape forbids partners. Meet you down here in ten minutes.” She excused herself to change and drop her books off, disappearing up the staircase.

The common room quickly filled with students unloading their belongings after class and sinking down into the many overstuffed chairs. The first few days had taken their toll already, and Sirius felt it too. Despite having more free time than in past years, the amount of work assigned by the teachers drank greedily on those precious hours. Sirius draped his body over a chair, savoring in a bit of laziness before Annabelle returned.

Harry and his friends came through the portrait hole, their faces scarlet and shoulders sagging with exhaustion. He saw Harry glance at him but continue on to the dormitory with Ron.

“What happened to you three?” Sirius asked Hermione before she went up to the girls’ dormitory.

“Oh,” she huffed, “Nothing. Professor Lockhart presented Cornish pixies to the class today, and it may have gotten a bit out of hand. He asked the three of us to help contain them. They didn’t want to go back into the cage.”

Hermione’s bushy hair looked bigger than it usually did. She smoothed it down quickly, blushing slightly.

“Cornish pixies?” Sirius repeated. “What did he do? Let a flock loose?”

“Well, he’s a bit daring. Anyway, I’ve got to freshen up before dinner.”

Daring was not the word he’d pick for Lockhart, he decided the next day when he, Annabelle, and Claudia filed behind their classmates into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Like the other students in this time, he never had a teacher of the subject that lasted more than a year. He would be glad to see Lockhart go.

Class began with a quiz regarding Lockhart’s books. Apparently, they were expected to have read them all. There were parts of which Sirius had read aloud to Remus one evening which had them both guffawing over their plates, but apparently he hadn’t read it close enough since he couldn’t answer any of the questions.

Annabelle scoffed every now and then, scratching answers with her quill in her fist, pressing so hard that the nib went through the paper. Claudia was drawing her answers prettily, adding little hearts to her I’s. Sirius, meanwhile, was pretending Lockhart was a very large troll and answered the questions accordingly—his greatest challenge was translating English into grunts.

Lockhart was rather disappointed, evident as he shuffled through the quizzes, but by now, he had doled the quiz out to several classes, and learned to manage his discontent with a wide smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“None of you recalled that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care potions. Tut, tut, and this is supposed to be the advanced class!” Lockhart said, paging through. “Well, we’ll just have to press on, I suppose.”

He thrust the papers away and opened his arms wide as if a camera were pointed at and snapping photos of him. Sirius and Annabelle exchanged wide-eyed looks before they both smothered their snorts as Lockhart introduced the lesson.

“We will begin with nonverbal incantations,” said Lockhart “A very complicated, very intricate skill that only the most powerful wizards like myself can master. Perhaps a demonstration? I shall need an assistant!”

A few hands went up, including Claudia’s. She tried to catch Lockhart’s eye as his gaze swept over the class; she pushed into Annabelle’s side as she followed his line of sight. Sirius intently pretended to take notes, a small voice pleading with Lockhart not to pick him. Even Percy Weasley was hiding his face with a hand over his brow.

“Ah yes, you!”

No one moved, and as Sirius looked up from his scribbles, every eye in the classroom was on him. Inwardly, he cursed. Of course Lockhart would choose him. Claudia’s face fell, but the dread on Annabelle’s face had turned to delight as she watched him roll his eyes and push back his chair to meet Lockhart at the head of the classroom.

“Mr. Pratchett, is it?”

“That’s me,” drawled Sirius, smirking at Annabelle.

“I must ask you to remain calm, for I shall not hurt you, but I must demonstrate the intricacies of a nonverbal spell. What I need you to do is stand over there—” Lockhart waved his hand toward the windows “—and wait. I am going to cast a spell, but you won’t know which one, for I will do it without uttering a single word.”

He must have thought this would have a greater effect because he left a pause for the crowd to gasp, which of course, they did not. For a moment his face fell, but soon he was sweeping into position and aiming his wand at Sirius.

Sirius braced himself. Annabelle’s amusement turned to concern, and Claudia was covering her mouth with a hand. Sirius, however, wouldn’t let Lockhart best him in front of the class—he would not commence his last two years at Hogwarts getting tossed around a classroom by a clown. He gripped his wand and watched carefully.

Lockhart’s face crumpled and reddened with concentration; his fingers twitched on the handle of his wand, and Sirius sensed the unspoken hex hurtling his way.

 _“Protego!”_ Sirius shouted as the shield absorbed Lockhart’s spell.

Even Lockhart seemed surprised, yet he recovered with a chuckle.

“Ah, you see, I was waiting for Mr. Pratchett to throw up his shield! Otherwise we would have seen him tapdancing across the room. Perhaps this time, I shall not go so easy on him!”

Sirius threw up another shield, this time without opening his mouth, focusing on the nonverbal spell. He felt Lockhart’s hex, as if the frustration had thrust power into the spell, but his shield held and had Lockhart stumbling back. The rest of the class exchanged confused glances.

“Are you all right, _professor?_ ” Sirius said, simpering.

“Quite all right, my boy,” Lockhart assured, though the twitch of an eye suggested otherwise.

“Ooh, was that a nonverbal shield?” said Claudia.

“Why yes, it was, Miss Hotchkiss,” said Sirius. “Thank you ever so much, professor. I’ve learned loads just standing in your presence. I never would have had the confidence to try a nonverbal spell without you.”

Lockhart swept his shining hair back and, ego restored, thanked ‘Mr. Pratchett’ and excused him from the demonstration. Soon he had the rest of the students partnering up and instructed them to hurl silent curses at each other, which soon had everyone looking like they were having stomach trouble. Meanwhile, Lockhart waltzed about the room and offered pointless tips.

Claudia took Sirius by the arm and pulled him to the side of the room to practice. Her fingers clawed into the sleeve of his robe as she grinned.

“You made him look like a complete idiot,” she said.

“He did most of the work,” admitted Sirius. “And I thought you fancied him?”

“Not anymore!”

Claudia was not very good at nonverbals, but she was fun to duel with her creative hexes and swift movements as she hurled a spell and dodged out of the way of his. She seemed to sense when he was about to hex, even when he did it silently, and ducked just in time, giggling as she did, swinging her dark blonde hair like a majestic cape.

“You keep moving your lips,” she said, pointing at his mouth. “I can tell when you’re about to do it. Stick your tongue out. You can’t move your lips then.”

He felt about as idiotic as Lockhart, but he tried it, sticking out his tongue as he flung a Jelly-Legs hex which hit her in the abdomen and she collapsed, laughing hoarsely.

“See? You look stupid but it works!”

“What about you?” Sirius said. He lifted the hex and gave her his arm to heave her back to her feet. “You haven’t tried a nonverbal _once_. Let’s see you try.”

Claudia shrugged. “No thanks. Class is over anyway.”

And so it was. Annabelle was still chortling over Lockhart when they went down to dinner later that evening. The class buzzed about it, some patting Sirius on the back and thanking him for putting Lockhart in his place. Even Percy Weasley commended Sirius on his command of nonverbal spells, lamenting that they couldn’t have a better professor in such a pivotal point of their Hogwarts careers.

That evening, Annabelle and Claudia wished Sirius a good night as they clambered up to the girls’ dormitory, sneaking glances at him as they did. Their behavior struck Sirius as odd, but he decided to call it an early night too, especially after the exhausting week back. Typically, he and his friends would nip down to the kitchens on the first Friday night and greet the House-Elves and celebrate with their own little feast. Sometimes they would sneak down into the Shrieking Shack and get a bit indulgent with Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, waking the next day with pounding heads and weak grins, but he was glad to have a moment to himself finally.

Percy Weasley came in swiftly after Sirius had shed his clothes and tucked into bed, declaring that he’d never been so glad to see the weekend. Soon Oliver Wood and the other boys in their year—Thomas Duncan, Owen Parrell, and Simon Robinson—were climbing into bed as well, which seemed odd. For all five Gryffindor sixth years to be going to bed at quarter to ten on the first night of the weekend seemed just short of a miracle.

Sirius closed the curtains around his bed, and curled on his side. Sleep moved in, claiming him almost as soon as his eyes shut.

It was not to be.

Only a half hour had passed before he heard a bit of shuffling around the room. Too tired to care, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to go back to sleep until the noises around the room went silent. Then he started to hear snoring.

Suddenly, there was a hand clamped down on his mouth.

Sirius threw the hand off, only to see the person whose head was poking through the curtains was Annabelle. She pressed a finger to her lips and tugged on his hand until he followed her from the bed. In the moonlight, she mimed for him to put his clothes on. He shoved on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and he followed her from the dormitory down into the common room. She didn’t stop there. They climbed through the portrait hole, out into the corridor beyond.

They pressed against the walls, watching for shadows as they crept along until they reached the stairs. Sirius typically never needed to creep around like this, not when James swung his Invisibility Cloak over their shoulders.

Recognition dawned. They were headed towards the Astronomy Tower.

Sure enough, by the time they finished climbing to the very top, they came upon at least a dozen students lounging against the crenulations, laughing and sharing a few bottles of firewhisky and a Muggle bottle of peppermint Schnapp’s. Faces were fresh and bright, as if the party had only just started. Claudia was already there, tangled in the arms of a dark and soulful looking Ravenclaw. She waved. The rest of the boys’ sixth year dormitory were there as well, some of them looking sheepish when they saw Annabelle emerge with him in tow. Percy Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry, mate,” Thomas Duncan said. “Can’t have Percy getting wind of this. Glad you came though!”

“I was always planning on getting you,” Annabelle murmured in his ear.

The other Houses had come too. A few Ravenclaws were chatting with each other, a couple of Hufflepuffs were laying down, watching the stars above, and even a handful of Slytherins stood about the top of the tower. Annabelle snatched a bottle from Claudia’s hand and thrust it into Sirius’s.

“I trust you know what to do with that?” she said.

Sirius grinned. He certainly did.

The sixth year students of this time weren’t bad, he decided. Perhaps they were even like the ones from his own time, not that he would know since he’d never really gotten acquainted with many of his other classmates outside of his own friends.

Without the rest of the Marauders surrounding him, it seemed that girls were a bit more comfortable in their approach. The Hufflepuff girls drew him in, bidding him to sit beside them and watching dreamily as he talked about his encounter with Lockhart earlier in the day. If they were listening, he couldn’t know. One of them kept stroking his knee.

The bottles passed from hand to hand, and Sirius took a swig from each one as they came to him, relishing in the burn as it filled his mouth. The tips of his fingers tingled as he talked and talked, moving from group to group as they all descended into blurry figures. He lost track of Annabelle, but soon there was Claudia who was pulling him away from a mix of Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

She was wobbly on her legs as she stumbled into him, her teeth bared in a wide smile. Sirius gripped her arms to keep her upright, dancing them away from a pair of snogging people that he didn’t recognize, and she held on tightly. The breath from her was hot with the pinching smell of mint. Her brown eyes stared up at him, her smile faltering. She was close enough for him to count all of the freckles across her nose and smell the last bit of summer in her hair.

The gap closed between them, and suddenly his hands were curling in the blond tresses, clutching her closely as her fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt. Her mouth was warm and she tasted like the orchestra of the party’s liquor. Desperation bloomed in his chest and he couldn’t stop it, deepening the kiss, feeling the curve of her body against his, feeling as if he were about to explode. The bones of her fingers pushed painfully into his chest, pinched between their bodies. Then she broke away, her lips wet and plump, her eyes cloudy with passion and alcohol, and her hair mussed.

The world swam by as if they were underwater as she led him away from the party, down the stairs from the Astronomy Tower and slinking back through the darkened corridors. He tugged on her hand, wondering where Annabelle had gone, only to be shushed and pulled along.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Back to Gryffindor Tower,” she whispered.

Later he would remember giving the password to the portrait of the fat lady who barked her scandal that they were returning so late, to tiptoeing through the barren common room, to following Claudia up to the boys’ dormitory. Behind the door, the snoring charms were strong. Claudia pointed to the beds in question, and Sirius indicated his. Soon she was crawling in between the curtains.

He froze at the opening, hand clenched on the hangings. Images and thoughts swirled behind his eyes, contemplating the implications of a girl wedging her way into his bed and propping herself on her elbows. He hardly knew her, and he wasn’t even certain he liked her more than as a friend, but he couldn’t deny the way his blood pulsed through his veins as she crooked a finger at him.

She welcomed him with a kiss as his arms wrapped around her. Her legs, long and gangly, ensnared his waist and she was pressing her lips everywhere. He was lost to the sensation of her kissing his jaw, his neck, his earlobe, until a splitting pain erupted behind his eyes. He let her go, letting her sink into the pillows, pressing the heel of his hand to his brow.

Pain like someone hammering against his skull blinded him. It wasn’t alcohol—it was like someone or something invading his mind, battering against the confines like a tiger in a cage. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to go away. When it did, he blinked down at the girl beneath him.

Then she snored.

Through the pounding headache, he felt a cool wave of relief. She’d fallen asleep. He fell back into the bed as well, closing his eyes.

The pain was knocking on his skull, and he could almost hear the echo of someone calling for him, almost like hundreds of miles away, pleading with him to answer. Sirius clenched his fists.

“Go away,” he growled, and suddenly, the pain vanished.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A new story! It’s been years since I’ve written fanfiction, and with the world how it is right now, I’m just enjoying a bit of an escape. I know, another time travel fic, but it's a guilty pleasure within a guilty pleasure! The first half of the story is almost entirely written—it just needs some revision, so hopefully updates will be weekly. A small warning, however, that this fic will be rather OC heavy. When I began writing, I didn’t think that would be the case, but I soon realized that Harry’s total ignorance of older students in the first three books is really a problem, and I had to give Sirius some friends in his new future. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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